


Let me breathe your dust

by my_deer_friend



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Angst, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Blow Jobs, Deception, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, Dubious Consent, Falling In Love, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Gay John Laurens, Human Catastrophe John Laurens, Jealousy, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Manipulation, Non-Explicit Sex, OOC John, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Pining, Sex, Sexual Assault, Unrequited Love, a lot of drinking, mostly due to drunkenness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:33:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26515258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_deer_friend/pseuds/my_deer_friend
Summary: When John goes out looking for trouble, drunk on alcohol, bravado and being away from home for the first time, the trouble he finds is Alex.He remembers looking into unfocused chocolate eyes above knife-sharp cheekbones above pouty lips, remembers staring and losing his senses and saying "oh shit" instead of "John" when asked for his name, remembers getting dragged out of the open fire escape and then fingers and then lips and then bliss. Remembers falling instantly and irredeemably in love.But Alex doesn’t remember.And, there's a bigger problem. Alex just wants to be friends.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Comments: 115
Kudos: 100





	1. Too busy being yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThatWouldBee_Enough](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatWouldBee_Enough/gifts).



> A birthday gift for That_Would_Be_Enough that was meant to be a smutty one-shot prompt fic but that somehow turned into a dark, angsty novella.
> 
> Prompts:  
> \- Sex on a dare  
> \- Marking  
> \- “Are you doing this because you’re jealous?”
> 
> Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3LTFA7itlMwfn2OogZD1KP?si=As1UB8J0RiagLbAyjPtvzw
> 
> Story title from Arctic Monkeys' _I wanna be yours_
> 
> (Tags will update as we go!)

Alex bursts into John’s orbit like a stray comet - erratic and distant at first, then ever closer, until John catches Alex in his gravity and the arc of their friendship becomes the light in John’s life. 

He remembers his orientation week well enough to know that when he goes out looking for trouble, drunk on alcohol, bravado and being away from home for the first time, the trouble he finds is Alex. 

He remembers being dragged from bar to bar by Laf, who at the time was just the tall, talkative French kid he’d been buddied up with; John had spent a semester abroad in Geneva, so he was the only one in their orientation group who could string together any kind of comprehensible French conversation.

He remembers Laf complimenting a big, broad, mellow-looking guy on the cut of his coat - that turns out to be Herc - and the two of them forging an almost instant bromance around their mutual love of fashion. 

He remembers squashing into a booth with Herc and Laf and three girls - different skin tones, but claiming to be sisters - and an ever-changing canvas of other people whose names he finds harder to remember the drunker he gets.

And, oh, he remembers Herc’s friend - a skinny brown kid with messy dark hair - bustling back to the booth and sliding in alongside him, ranting furiously about getting jostled and elbowed because he’s _too fucking small_ to be sent to the bar. Remembers the kid sticking out his hand and saying _Alexander_ with a bit of a mumbled slur. Remembers turning to look into slightly unfocused chocolate eyes above knife-sharp cheekbones above pouty lips, remembers staring and losing his senses and saying _oh shit_ instead of _John_ when asked for his name, remembers those lips twisting into a seductive smile, remembers the fingers that materialised on his knee, remembers Alex giving him a look and saying _you’re big and strong, come help me get the next round,_ remembers Alex’s hand in his and getting dragged out of the open fire escape in the back and then fingers and then lips and then bliss.

Alex doesn’t remember, though. 

It’s dark, and everyone is oh-so-wasted, and when Alex gets down on his knees in front of him it’s rushed and clumsy and John hasn't even given Alex his _name_ yet. But the blowjob he gets is so phenomenal that John wonders, at the time, if Alex really is half as drunk as he’s acting - or whether he is just so practiced at it that it’s like muscle memory. He discovers, soon enough, that it's the latter.

None of that stops John from falling instantly and irredeemably in love.

Afterwards, he lies in bed, unable to sleep above the rush of hormones, and he wonders how he’ll ever find Alex again on this massive campus.

But they meet again just a few days later, squashed into Laf’s dorm room for pizza and beer and poorly translated conversation with about half the students from the floor, and Alex doesn’t show any signs of recognition. He introduces himself again, and in this more sober setting, John discovers that Alex’s beautiful shell contains an even more luminous mind, a razor tongue and a bottomless wit.

Their friend circles overlap enough that they keep bumping into each other at Friday night mixers and midweek movie nights and Sunday study sessions - and they start to orbit more closely, finding each other instinctively in the masses of people. Alex lights up when he spots John, gives him big, tender, friendly hugs, and then sticks close to his side because he’s small and John is big and safe. 

And that would be fine, _great_ even, if John wasn’t both utterly smitten and completely clueless about what to do about it.

His pathetic romantic history provides no instruction. Martha was a confusing and desperate lunge at heterosexuality that ended in mutual tears and a trip to the 24-hour pharmacy for morning-after pills. The guy he messed around with at their robotics club meet was just as confused and unpracticed as he was. And he’d known Francis forever - they were friends before they had sex, and friends after, even when they’d discovered there was nothing else between them despite being the only gay kids in their circle.

So, despite his overwhelming urge to stake his claim on Alex, John lets himself observe first. He wants to make sure that he can be everything Alex wants and needs. He only has one shot, after all, and he can’t waste it on a half-assed date or a fumbled kiss.

The problem - which becomes immediately apparent from this study - is that Alex has no interest in commitments but does have a voracious appetite for casual sex. John doesn’t want to slut-shame him, and his own pathetic tally of conquests is hardly a benchmark - Alex is fully one _quarter_ of all the people he’s been intimate with - but Alex is _constantly_ on the prowl. Men, women, all sizes and shapes and colours, it doesn’t seem to matter - Alex’s charm flows out of him like a runaway hosepipe, soaking everyone in his radius, and it seems like every time John looks his way, Alex is either flirting with someone new or slipping quietly out of the room, his hand in someone else’s.

It’s rarely the same person, John notes, even as he smoulders with impotent jealousy. This becomes a vital clue. Alex claims and then discards his lovers like the endless takeaway coffee cups he leaves in his wake.

But he has few lasting attachments, and fewer genuine friends, and so John finds his niche here. 

It’s not difficult to be Alex’s friend, and John sometimes wonders why so few people try. Alex is brilliant and funny, and surprisingly considerate despite the aloof front he puts on. He always seems to know when John needs a joke or rant to cheer him up, or a late-night pizza, or a hand with a tricky section in a paper. John searches desperately for any signs that Alex’s feelings towards him are anything other than platonic, but even his overeager imagination doesn’t find any concrete evidence that Alex wants to be more than friends. That’s okay, though, because he knows love can grow from friendship, and that given enough time he might be able to nudge Alex into developing deeper feelings. John settles in for the long haul, and is rewarded when Alex opens up in response to his constant, steady presence. Alex confesses things in private that John suspects he’s never told anyone else, painting an ever-richer image of the fragile, earnest, self-conscious boy beneath the mask that is Alexander Hamilton.

John files all this information away securely. 

Alex is affectionate, too - like he’s starved for physical contact that isn’t sexual. It’s difficult, but John learns to respond in kind, and whenever they are close enough they find ways to touch - hands resting in safe places; shoulders leaning up against each other; tickles and pinches and playful smacks; heads together to joke about their friends. Alex is endlessly fascinated by the feel of John’s curls. John reserves the space inside the curve of his arm for Alex alone. 

It’s better, for both of them, when Alex is tucked safe and close into the side of John’s body. John has no idea how Alex survives on as little sleep as he gets - Alex has confessed that he struggles to sleep if he can’t shut his brain off first, which explains some of the drinking and fornicating - but Alex never has a problem falling asleep when he's tucked into the crook of John’s arm, regardless of the hubbub around them. John is content, for now, just to be his safe harbour. 

Alex might give his body to others, but he gives his time and trust to John - and that's what really counts.

***

“D’ you b’lieve in love, Jackie?”

He’s always _Jackie_ when Alex is this drunk.

“Do you?” John doesn’t answer the question, because Alex is only asking so that John can ask him back and give him the chance to share whatever’s on his mind.

“Yes!” 

Huh. Alex is cynical about most gentle things, so John is not expecting this breathy exclamation or the way Alex stares up at John’s ceiling with a bright, wide-eyed, blissful expression on his face. 

“Really?” 

“’course! Can you ’magine, Jackie, losing y’r mind like _that?_ ”

“Hmm.”

“I can’t _wait,_ Jackie, t' go mad with love! It mus' be--” Alex waves his hands in circles, unable to find words.

Heaven, John supplies silently. Hell, too.

***

If Alex has a flaw, hard as it is for John to admit such a thing, it’s his paradoxical need to want to be in perfect control of his life, while carelessly gambling away his ability to maintain it on sordid entanglements and alcohol.

Alex lives off-campus - he mentions that the privacy and quiet are worth the commute and the extra cost - but John figures out soon enough that this is one of the _control_ things. Absolutely no one is ever invited there. Not even him; not even after Alex calls him his best friend.

Attachments are another control thing, and Alex makes the best-friend confession as seriously as if he’s saying _I love you_ for the first time. John’s heart swells because he knows what a profound gift this is, even if it’s not exactly the one he wants. 

And there are dark moments, too, in those times when Alex loses grip on his sense of control - like when he gets something wrong in class, or is the one who gets used up and discarded when he hasn’t been quick enough in detaching himself from his latest conquest. Maybe, if Alex didn’t drink so much, these blows wouldn’t be so rough on him - but John is his _best friend,_ not his parent, so it isn’t his place to say anything.

So, instead of trying to correct his behaviour, John appoints himself Alex’s clean-up service. He’s had plenty of experience being an overprotective older brother that he can channel into this new role. He commits that he will always be available, no matter what Alex needs from him, or when. John can’t keep up with Alex’s sleepless schedule, so he doesn’t try - instead, he makes sure his ringer is loud enough to wake him regardless of how late it is. It’s not uncommon for him to get a call once or twice a week from Laf, Herc or one of the Schuylers asking him to come and save Alex from himself. 

Usually, it’s when Alex is drunk at a bar and getting into an argument with someone bigger and drunker than him, or has drunkenly flirted his way into an altercation with a partner who doesn’t appreciate him poaching on their territory. Occasionally Alex has gotten drunk and maudlin and talkative and their friends need him to be extracted because it’s 1am and everyone except Alex wants to go to sleep.

John shows up every time, even when he’s busy with something else, because he wants to prove to Alex that he is always going to be there for him. He does whatever he needs to do - throws punches, makes threats, bodily hauls Alex over his shoulder, or has a quiet word with whoever he’s offended. He doesn’t mind. He’d rather spend time with Alex than do anything else, anyway - even if that means holding his hair back as he empties his guts into the toilet, or listening with a sympathetic arm around his shoulder as Alex grumbles or rants or cries about the latest sexcapade gone wrong.

Alex will figure it out eventually, John knows. He’s smart. When all the others have used him up and thrown him away, John will still be standing there, smiling, his hand stretched out, offering bottomless trust and unconditional love. 

John can wait. 

Being best friends is fine. For now.

***

Laf catches him. 

They’re crammed into some dorm room, wedged into a corner of someone’s bed. Alex is fast asleep with his head on John’s lap, and John’s gazing down at him, playing with Alex’s hair. There must be something unguarded in his expression, because when John looks up, Laf catches his eye and gives him a knowing look.

John turns away, but he’s not fast enough to pretend he didn’t see it. He takes his hand off Alex’s hair and flushes. Like Laf needs any more evidence.

Later on, when Alex has woken up again and melted into the crowd, Laf slides into the vacated spot.

“Anything you want to tell to me, mon cher?”

“No.”

Laf raises an eyebrow. “Laurens?”

John stares into his lap. “Don’t say anything. Please.”

“Eh, of course not. How long did you know this?”

“A little while.”

“Hmm.” Laf scans the room. He spots Alex for a second as the crowd shifts, at the same time John does. Alex has his arms up on some guy’s shoulders, the guy’s hands on his hips, and Alex is grinning up at this stranger like he’s the tastiest morsel he’s ever seen.

Laf turns back to look at him, but John just stares into the corner, his neck burning red. Laf doesn’t say any more after that.

***

Alex is _always_ too cold. John lends him so many hoodies and scarves and warm knit sweaters that he has to buy a few extra to ensure that he always has one on hand in case Alex needs it. Alex is pretty good about giving them back eventually, but John notices that his comfortable old autumn-red cardigan goes missing and stays missing. 

He likes the idea that Alex holds on to it as a reminder of him.

***

When their close-knit group hangs out together, they play endless rounds of truth-or-dare - _ironically,_ of course, and not at all because they don't have more sober and vulnerable ways of getting to know each other. Alex always comes up with particularly awkward and clever dares tailored to their recipients, so their friends take a special interest in inventing ones in return. There’s a group chat for it and everything. John uses his special insights to steer them away from the most harmful suggestions, at least - like the idea to get Alex to call one of his parents at 2am and say something embarrassing.

Alex never chooses truth, even though he knows how bad the dares get. 

Sure enough, when Laf spins and the arrow stops on Alex, he says, “Dare, obviously,” before Laf can even ask.

Laf smirks meaningfully. “I dare you to kiss our Laurens.”

John blanches.

Alex flushes and frowns. “No, that’s against the rules, remember? Dares can’t involve other people.”

Laf cocks his head. “Unless they agree to participate.”

Well, fuck. He knows that Laf is trying to do, but Laf doesn’t understand that John can’t be the one to reveal his feelings; Alex needs to realise his own attachment first, because he has huge commitment issues and until he sees their relationship for what it is, he’s going to think John just wants him for sex and that is _not at all_ what John wants. 

Or, well, not _all_ he wants. 

Clearly he forgot to tell Laf not to be obliquely cruel about it. And this dare certainly wasn’t on the group chat.

Alex turns to look at him, and John tries to keep his expression neutral. Shit. He wants this, despite the risk of embarrassing himself.

He puts an awkward smile on his face. “It’s fine,” he shrugs. “The other stuff they thought up for you is a lot worse.”

Alex raises his eyebrows and snorts. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Laf gives John a significant look from behind Alex's back. 

Alex leans over and pecks him on the cheek. There is an immediate outcry.

“No, no, no!” Peggy yells. “No loopholes, Ham.”

“Hey - Laf said kiss! That was a kiss!”

Laf crosses his arms and smirks. “Do it properly.”

Alex gets that fierce, determined look in his eyes. “Fine.”

Before John knows what’s happening - before he can brace for this impact - Alex swings a leg over him and settles on his lap. Alex’s hands come to the sides of his face. He gives John a little wry look and whispers, “Sorry!” Then he leans in. 

Their lips press together, softly for a moment, then Alex draws his face a little closer and parts his lips and nudges his tongue forward. John doesn't know what to do. Should he kiss back? Where should he put his hands? His senses are swimming with the taste and smell and feel of _Alex_.

He settles for a middle ground, allowing Alex to steer the kiss, reacting just enough for it to keep going. He keeps his arms back, propping him up, although his fingers itch desperately to slide around those divine narrow hips. 

Alex leans further in, rising a little, pressing in a little closer, tilting John’s head back as he deepens the kiss - he’s really going for it, to settle this stupid dare. John just hangs on for dear life, trying not to seem like he is enjoying this as much as he is, while simultaneously trying to memorise every second and sensation. The softness of Alex’s lips. The delirious slide of his tongue. Alex’s smell - rum and coffee and the coconut note from his shampoo. The careful but insistent press of his fingertips on his face. The warm pressure of Alex’s thighs around his hips-- 

Fuck. 

He feels himself stirring. Can’t give the game away. Tries to smother his response.

Luckily, Alex seems to be satisfied with his display and pulls away. He sits back down on John’s legs and gives him a covert wink before turning to Laf and saying, “Satisfied?”

Ange whoops and Laf grins broadly. “That will do.”

“Great.” Alex turns back to him and claps John companionably on the shoulder before sliding off his lap and sitting back down beside him, arms pressed against each other. Comfortable. Friends.

Laf raises an eyebrow at him. John shoots Laf a dark, warning look in return.

***

"You need to tell him, mon ami."

“Drop it, Laf, okay?”

“One of you will get hurt. Or both.”

“Yeah, especially if you keep messing around with my shit, like the stunt you pulled with the dare.”

“Ah, sorry, I just thought it might, eh, get things moving?”

“Don’t even try. You don’t _get_ it.”

“Hmm?”

“Okay, look, just accept that you don't understand Alex like I do. He’s got to be the one who comes to me.”

“Ahh! So _both_ of you are, ah, _imbeciles_. What is that in English?”

“It's the same word.”

"Mmm." A pause. "Laurens?"

“Just mind your own business, okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Arctic Monkeys' _Do I wanna know_.


	2. In my defense

John minimises sex, and avoids romance entirely, because he needs to be available the second Alex figures things out. 

He learns to live with the constant simmering jealousy at all the other hands that are allowed to touch Alex in private ways. He contents himself with all the intimacies and special friendly touches _he’s_ allowed, and his clenched hand around his cock in the shower afterwards.

He knows he’s good looking; gets plenty of offers to hook up. He caves in to the occasional one-night stand but he always feels a little guilty afterwards. Not that he thinks he needs to stay pure for Alex - _Alex,_ of all people - but at the end of the day, Alex is the only one John really wants to have these intimate moments with. 

And anyway, his hook-ups don’t particularly appreciate it when he jumps out of bed and leaves in the middle of the proceedings if Alex-duties call. Like the time he pulls out of the brown kid with the shock of dark hair and a name he didn't catch - no, no, he’s not _substituting_ \- because Alex has phoned him in a state after getting drunk and locking himself inside the library. 

That rescue ends up being doubly worth it because it’s too late for Alex to head all the way home, so he crashes in John’s room; Alex is fast asleep almost before John can tuck him in, giving John plenty of time to hold him close, and warm up Alex's ice-cold hands in both of his, and rewrite the memories of the boy from earlier by editing in Alex’s face.

John slips out of bed, then, to deal with his erection. He’s not a _monster._

***

John wakes up to his phone ringing deep into a Thursday night and, seeing Laf on the caller ID, suspects he knows what’s coming. He blinks himself awake as he answers.

“‘Lo?”

“Laurens! I have, ah, some need of your help, mon ami.”

“Alex?”

Laf laughs. “We’re in my room.”

John slides on tracksuit pants and a hoodie and shuffles over - out of his building, through the quad and up into Laf’s. He finds Laf’s door ajar and the sound of an argument spilling out into the corridor. 

John gets there just in time to hear Alex sigh dramatically. 

“C’mon, Laf! You c’n kiss me, ‘sokay.”

“I don’t want to kiss you, Alexander!”

"Adi-- Adri-- y'r g'rlfriend won' mind!"

"She'd be laughing too much at you to be angry."

“Wh't? ‘m not pretty ‘nough for you?”

John nudges the door open and Laf shoots him an undisguised look of relief. Alex is kneeling on Laf’s bed, gripping tightly with two hands onto Laf’s right arm. He’s dishevelled, and despite his earnest expression, his face is slack. He’s wasted.

“You are very adorable,” Laf says, rolling his eyes at John, “But I am not interested.”

Alex lets go and sits back with an exaggerated huff. He notices John. 

“Jackie!" That open, delighted grin. "Jackie thinks ‘m pretty. Right?”

John forces out a sarcastic laugh to disguise his answer. “Simply gorgeous,” he says in a mocking tone. “But you need your beauty sleep if you want to stay that way.”

Alex huffs in annoyance. “Wan’ go out.”

John reaches out a hand. “Come, let’s go. Laf needs to sleep.”

Alex gets up reluctantly and John slips an arm around his back, tucking his hand securely against Alex’s waist. Just for balance, of course. 

Laf hands John Alex’s phone, which he’s forgotten on the bed, and gives him a look of deep gratitude. “ _T’es un ange,_ ” he murmurs.

John smiles wryly and nudges Alex, who is now drooping against his side despite his claim a moment ago that he wants to go do things. “Ready?”

“We goin’ out, Jackie?”

“Sure,” John says, but winks at Laf. “I need to change, though. Back to my room first?”

“‘kay.”

Alex isn’t particularly heavy, and he’s a familiar burden, so John has no trouble maneuvering him back to his room. As they walk, Alex mutters to himself, some nonsense that sounds like he is arguing against someone who isn’t there. When they’re halfway across the quad, he feels Alex’s hand snake around his waist. It settles on his hip, and then the cold fingers slip past the waistband and come to rest on his hot skin.

John swallows. Seeing how far gone Alex is, this is probably an innocent gesture, but he can’t help the little tingle of heat that rises from his belly. Fuck. Alex is pressed so close. And he's obviously desperate for any kind of attention if he was coming on to Laf - who is definitely both straight and in a committed relationship.

Clearly, Alex needs a little kindness and affection right now. John is his best friend, cares for him deeply - and he just wants to help. Surely it wouldn’t really be so bad? 

But, no. Alex is drunk - trashed. Barely coherent. It wouldn’t be right.

Then again, Alex also won’t remember any of this, if he’s already so far gone...

So John can’t help himself, when he shifts his arm to get a better grip, from allowing his fingers to slide down Alex’s waist and back up. An innocent, deniable gesture.

Alex hums and snuggles in closer, then continues his mumbled rant.

John hauls him up the two flights of stairs and keys open his door, glad for the umpteenth time that his dad agreed to spring for a single room. Keeping a firm grip on Alex, who feels like he wouldn’t be stable on his own feet, he turns and closes the door.

“Jackie?” Alex says, trying to look serious. “Y’ think ‘m gor-- ‘m gorgeous? Y’ said so.”

John smiles. _Yes._ “Let’s get you ready for bed.”

“D’you?”

He huffs. Alex isn’t going to remember this. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Show me,” Alex says, and in one swift motion he turns in John’s hold, presses himself close and kisses him.

It’s a sloppy, inaccurate lunge, and Alex reeks of vodka. But John still counts _one - two - three - four_ before he gently pushes Alex away.

“You’re drunk, Alex.”

“ _Y’r_ drunk,” Alex responds, and one of his clever hands is sliding down the back of John’s pants.

“Fuck,” John murmurs. God, he wants to. He can’t. He pulls Alex’s hand back. “We can’t do this.”

Alex’s eyes suddenly tear up. His expression twists. “Y’ don’ like me,” he accuses, but he looks genuinely hurt.

Fuck! John doesn’t deserve this. How much more can he do to prove to Alex that he loves him beyond all doubt and reason? He suppresses his frustration; Alex is too drunk to know what he’s saying.

“That’s not true, Alex. I’m your best friend, remember?”

“B’t y’ don’ wanna kiss me!”

Shit. _More than anything in the world._ “You’re drunk,” John says again, instead of giving a proper answer.

“So what! I know wha’ ‘m doing!” Alex argues, but the slur in his words belies them. “ _He_ didn’t want me and _Laf_ didn’t want me and _you_ don’t want me and _nob’dy--_ ” Alex’s voice breaks into hiccoughing sobs.

John doesn’t know who ‘he’ is, but it must mean that Alex got rejected tonight and has taken it hard. Good, he thinks bitterly; one fewer pair of hands on his Alex that he has to worry about.

He puts a sympathetic hand on Alex’s shoulder. Wishes he had the courage to say how he really feels - to take this misery away and prove to Alex that he is so loved, so cherished, so wanted. But he doesn’t, and Alex shrugs off his hand and turns away, pouting and hunching his shoulders. 

“Don’t pr’tend. Y’ jus’ gonna leave me.”

John sighs. This again. Why does drunk-Alex always accuse him of this? “No, I won’t. You’re my friend.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying, Alex.”

Alex digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Nob’dy loves me and nob’dy wants me and e’ryone _hates_ me and ’m awful and y’re all gonna leave and then--” He lets out a ragged sigh and starts to sob in earnest.

John puts his hand back on Alex’s shoulder and turns him around gently. Tears are streaming down Alex’s cheeks. His anguish is so exaggerated that it would be comical if John’s heart wasn't breaking. 

Fuck. Alex needs validation. John wants so badly to provide it. Would it really, _really_ be so bad? To stop Alex suffering so pointlessly?

John reaches a hand up and wipes away some of the tears. “Don’t say those things,” he murmurs. “We all love you. Laf and Herc and Ange and Liz and Pegs and-- And me.” He puts his other hand on Alex’s cheek. “You’re wonderful.” Alex’s eyebrows rise as his eyes widen. “And I-- I _do_ want you.”

He pulls Alex into a gentle kiss and Alex melts against him, stumbling a little as he tries to keep his balance, sighing contentedly against John’s lips. 

This isn’t so bad, John reasons. It’s just a kiss. It’s helping make Alex feel better. He’s not doing anything wrong. Alex won’t remember what they’re saying or doing by tomorrow, and John has become pretty good at keeping secrets. 

He pulls back after a moment and looks into Alex’s red eyes. “Is that better?” Alex nods. “Time for bed, then, okay?”

Alex lets John strip off his shoes, jacket and pants, leaving him in his t-shirt and underwear. John pulls back the covers and helps Alex into the bed. He pulls off his own outerwear, switches off the light, grabs a spare pillow he keeps on hand for these occasions and lies down beside him. Alex turns to face him.

“Kiss me ‘gain,” Alex insists.

“Go to sleep, Alex.”

“Don’ wanna.” 

Alex shifts, and suddenly his whole body is on top of John’s, pressing down.

“Alex!” John yelps, and his hands shoot out to push Alex’s hips up and off his - more than anything so that Alex doesn’t feel the almost instant way his cock has responded to this.

Alex’s cold hand is on his waist and his lips are on John’s neck. “Said y' wanted me,” he murmurs into John’s skin. “‘m here. Y' c’n have me.”

“Alex,” John says again, but it’s more of a groan now, because he can feel how Alex is tenting his underwear just from where John is gripping onto his hips. Fuck, he wishes he were drunk too. Then at least he’d have an excuse.

“Seen you lookin’,” Alex whispers into his ear. “You wanna fuck me, Jackie, don’tcha? Put your cock in me? Make me scream?”

“Jesus christ,” John groans, and the hold he has on Alex’s hips changes from defensive to eager. Does Alex really know, or is he just saying these things to provoke him? John doesn’t care, in this instant - it’s working. He runs one hand around to Alex’s ass, and it’s as firm and tight as he imagined it would be.

Now that John’s grip has slackened, Alex grinds his hips down. “Mmmm,” he purrs, “Y’re so hard for me, Jackie. Y’ _r’lly_ want me, Jackie?”

He can’t lie anymore, not now. “Yes,” he murmurs. “Shit, Alex, I--”

Alex reaches up a hand towards John’s face, but the little movement makes him lose his balance and he collapses down onto John’s chest, breaking into giggles. “‘m drunk, Jackie!” he says between swells of laughter.

Fuck. John _can’t_ do this. Alex can’t even balance on all fours, and John has no business taking advantage of this situation. 

He allows himself to hold onto Alex’s body for just a few more moments. Savours them, the little shifts and breaths and hums as Alex can’t stop laughing. 

Then, regretfully, carefully, he reinforces his grip on Alex’s hip and brings his other hand up to Alex’s shoulder, pushing him up gently. Using his greater strength and the leverage of his hands, he tilts Alex off him and turns, so that they are both on their sides, facing each other.

Alex’s laughing face twists immediately into confusion. “Wha'th’ fuck?”

“Alex,” John whispers, and if it’s hoarse and rough, only he’s going to remember it. “You’re too drunk. We’re not doing this.”

The tears well up again. Alex chews anxiously at his lower lip. Instead of arguing again, he twists around angrily to his other side and curls into himself. 

John can hear him sniffling. Feeling like he’s just been punished for doing the right thing, he reaches out a friendly hand and runs it soothingly up and down the top of Alex’s spine, between his shoulders. It doesn’t take Alex long to go limp, and when he’s sure Alex is safely asleep, John scoots closer and slides his arm around Alex’s waist, drawing him in against his chest and nuzzling into his hair. He falls asleep intoxicated on Alex’s scent--

\--only to be woken up, perhaps half an hour later, by the feeling of Alex’s ass grinding against his groin. He makes a startled sound and Alex hums in pleasure.

Alex’s hand is gripping the one John has draped over his waist, and now Alex runs it slowly over his stomach and down to where he is half-hard in his underwear. Still sleep-addled, John presses his hand against the stiffening cock for a second, then comes to fuller wakefulness.

“Alex? Jesus, what are you doing?”

“Need y’--” Alex whispers, still drunk, still slurring, and there’s a ragged hitch in his voice that isn’t arousal. “Need _som’ne_ t’ need me."

Well, shit. John doesn’t know what to do. Alex is clearly still very upset about his earlier rejection. It’s the middle of the night, so he can’t kick him out, and Alex is not going to stop insisting, if this neediness is bad enough to have woken him from his drunken sleep. At this rate, John would have to stay awake all night or go sleep on the floor to ward off these advances.

Or perhaps… Well, John isn’t going to have _sex_ with Alex, that would be completely inappropriate, but - surely a little helping hand wouldn’t be such a bad thing? For a friend?

John shifts into a more comfortable position, pressing the whole of his front against the curve of Alex’s back and propping his head up on his free arm. “Okay,” he whispers, “Just this once, okay?”

Alex lets out a sob of relief and presses John’s hand down more insistently. “Jackie… Y’re so _hot,_ Jackie. So nice t’ me.”

“Shhh,” John whispers. He doesn’t want any more of this rambling, for fear of Alex saying something John will regret hearing - _nice_ is already bad enough. He presses his palm down harder and Alex groans and squirms back against him. John can’t hide that he’s already hard, and can’t stop his hips twitching forward just a little. It’s fine. Alex won’t remember - at least, not the details.

He slips his hand inside Alex’s underwear and wraps his fingers around the hard, silken shaft. Alex bucks back into him, then slides his top hand between John’s waist and arm and curls it around John’s ass. The fingers dig in, draw him closer. 

“‘s okay,” Alex murmurs, “Wanna feel how ha-- how hard y’ are for me, Jackie.” Alex’s other arm curls up above their heads, tangling in John’s hair and pulling his face closer. “Show me, Jackie. _Tell_ me.”

John squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, his cheeks starting to burn with guilty arousal. But it’s fine. He can say what he likes. Alex won’t remember a thing.

He starts to stroke Alex, slowly at first, root to head. He nudges his hips forward a little in time with his strokes. 

“Feel that, Alex?” he whispers, and Alex nods earnestly against the pillow as he groans. “That’s what you do to me.”

“Feels s’ good, Jackie,” Alex mumbles into the pillow.

Perhaps it’s the heavy, late-night confessional atmosphere, or his sleep-lowered senses, or the rare chance to safely say things he can never otherwise admit - but his tongue loosens. “I can get hard just thinking about you, Alex,” John whispers, letting his own arousal colour his tone. “Your mouth. Your eyes. Your neck.” 

John leans his face down and presses his lips to the tender skin at the side of Alex’s throat. His hand speeds up a little. Alex mewls, starts to shift his hips back and forth.

“Your legs,” John continues, feeling emotion well up alongside his lust. “Fuck, your hips.”

Alex is panting heavily. “God, Jackie, fuck…”

John exhales a hot breath against Alex’s neck. “And your perfect ass,” he groans, grinding into it, hard. “Wish it was up in the air for me, Alex, waiting for me to split you open.”

“Oh god,” Alex keens, and he’s trembling and moaning now. “Do it, Jackie! God please, _want_ it, want it _so bad,_ want it inside--”

“Not tonight,” John says, and he hopes that some subliminal message will reach Alex that, perhaps, they could do this again some _other_ night.

And besides, he wouldn’t last long enough to get Alex prepped, considering how his own orgasm is suddenly bubbling up at the feel of Alex’s body twisting and pressing against his, at the sinful sounds coming out of Alex’s mouth just from the touch of his hand. 

“‘m close, Jackie,” Alex moans. “Please please _please!_ ”

John speeds up the stroking. The grind of his own cock against Alex’s writhing ass is so, so good, but the angle isn’t quite right for him to get enough pressure--

He pushes himself up a little, rising above Alex and leaning over him, so that Alex is now turned further around onto his stomach. Alex slides his top knee forward to brace himself and - yes! - this gives John the resistance he really needs. He slides his leg between Alex’s, so that he’s half on top of him, and starts thrusting his hips forward in earnest as his hand slides harder, faster along Alex’s cock.

“Fuck, fuck, Jackie, please--!”

“You’re perfect, Alex,” John groans into the back of Alex’s head. “God, I want you. I want you all the time. I want you to be mine. Only mine.”

Alex’s breath hitches, then he lets out a shuddering groan and John feels the hot spurt of come on his hand. 

God he’s close, so close. He clenches his hand around Alex’s cock to keep him in place and ruts forward, gasping, moaning. Alex is squirming below him, fuck! This is better than anything he's dreamed.

“Ow, Jackie, stop,” Alex gasps, but John needs just a second, just a moment longer--

\--his orgasm bursts out of him with a groan and a shudder. He pants heavily against Alex’s shoulder as he loosens his grip and slides his hand free, trying to make sure Alex's underwear catches all of the mess. Alex’s back relaxes when his cock is freed, and he melts into John’s chest. 

_God, I love you._

When John’s heart finally settles, he shifts away. Alex grumbles, already half-asleep. 

“Be right back,” John whispers. He gets out of bed, puts on his track pants - trying not to get them dirty from either his own come or the stuff on his hand - and slips quickly and quietly into the nearby bathroom. He takes off his underwear, rinses it, cleans himself up, then looks into his own face in the mirror.

The John looking back has a defiant twist in his brow. He didn’t do anything _wrong._

When John slips back into bed, Alex immediately wraps himself around him, arms and legs, and snuggles into his shoulder. 

“Y’ came back, Jackie.”

He chuckles softly. “It’s my room, Alex.”

“Y’re th’ bes’,” Alex mumbles and, moments later, relaxes into a deep sleep.

John tries to stay awake a little longer, just to enjoy the warm press of Alex’s molten limbs and the tiny puffs of air on his collarbone. He isn’t stealing anything, he thinks, by enjoying this moment. 

Alex doesn’t even know he is giving something away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "T’es un ange." - "You're an angel."
> 
> *
> 
> Title from Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz's poem _Not Doing Something Wrong Isn't the Same as Doing Something Right_


	3. Deep devotion

John wakes first, though that’s hardly a surprise. He’s on his side again; Alex’s back is tucked snugly against his chest and his legs are curled up almost to his stomach; a childlike, protective pose. 

John savours this closeness for a few minutes. He allows himself to imagine Alex’s eyes blinking open, fixing on him; a soft affectionate smile spreading over his lips as he presses them against John’s; the warm tangle of their bodies shifting from sleep-heavy to teasing.

John realises he’s just torturing himself, so he extracts his arm and rolls slowly onto his back. In the light of day, he feels a little less sure about last night’s actions. There is a distinct prickle of discomfort when he replays Alex’s slurring speech and stumbling motions; it’s not quite so sweet and endearing, now. Alex’s face is ashy in the morning light, his eyes surrounded by dark, bruise-like rings, his hair limp. 

Alex is going to feel like absolute hell when he wakes up and John doesn’t want to compound the misery by trying to have a conversation about what happened right away. He _does_ want to confirm that Alex doesn’t recall any of the more sordid moments - or the most revealing confessions - but he can investigate that a bit later, once Alex looks less like a dead thing warmed over. 

Best to let him sleep, then.

So John gets up and prepares quietly to go to class. He leaves water and aspirin and his spare key on the little table, along with a clean towel, and slips an extra blanket out from his closet and drapes it over Alex’s curled-up form. He sets the alarm on Alex’s phone for midday; he’s going to miss most of his lectures, but that’s okay, because Alex really doesn’t need them and, frankly, it will give the other students a break from his constant interruptions. 

John marvels for a second that Alex trusts him enough with his passcode, and then immediately betrays that trust by flipping from his alarm to his texts to see if there’s any clue what landed Alex in this state yesterday. It would be useful to know, he justifies to himself, so he can help Alex through it - and if it really was that bad, Alex might be cagey about the details.

There’s a cryptic message from a Nate inviting Alex out for a drink at about 8pm, and nothing else after that.

John flips to Alex’s contacts. The list is filled with dozens of first-name only entries, each one annotated with details of their encounters - things like ‘++ doesn’t get emotional afterwards’ and ‘STEER CLEAR’ and ‘won’t do anal but everything else is on the cards’ - because even in this, Alex is meticulous and precise. 

John wonders bitterly what his entry would say; probably something like ‘nice face and good for a last-resort hand job, let’s be friends’. 

Nate’s note reads ‘fucks anything that moves’. Ah. Sounds like Alex was expecting a guaranteed good time. He has pretty thin skin, so it’s not a big surprise that he was thrown off by this rejection. 

John files this info away and heads off to class.

***

At quarter past twelve, his phone buzzes.

_Alex > OH MY GOD JOHN I AM SO SORRY!!! _

A tension John didn’t realise he was carrying loosens in his diaphragm. He smiles at the message, then waits for Alex to finish typing the next one. It takes a few minutes, which means he must be struggling to focus on the screen or, more likely, dashing off to throw up. 

_Alex > can i come back later and beg your forgiveness?? totally ok if you say no _

Normally John would joke around a bit, tease him about his drunken antics, but it takes a lot for Alex to apologise - especially like this, without reservations - so he must be feeling fragile. 

_John > don’t worry about it :) _

_John > come over any time, will be free from 6 _

_Alex > okay thanks i’ll bring dinner yr the best _

_I know._

_John > how are you feeling? _

It takes Alex another few minutes to reply.

_Alex > wish i was dead _

***

John swims laps in the pool and processes his next move.

He has a prime opportunity here, with Alex feeling vulnerable and wrong-footed, to propose something he’s been mulling over for a while. He rehearses his arguments over and over as his shoulders start to burn. Decides exactly what kind of concerned tone he needs to take. He’s thought of all angles, and even if Alex shoots it down, John is pretty sure it won’t hurt their friendship.

Because he can’t give Alex any chance to suspect he wants to be more than friends.

***

Alex shows up at his door a little before 7pm, bearing tex-mex takeout and still looking faintly green. He knocks, opens the door when John calls a greeting, but then hesitates just outside.

John turns in his chair, where he’s been trying and failing to concentrate on an essay for the last hour as his eyes keep drifting to the little clock in the corner of his screen. “You coming in?” he asks with a smile.

Alex barely meets his eye before frowning down at the floor. “Sure it’s okay?” He looks lost and delicate, drowning in one of John’s massively oversized hoodies and without any of his usual flash and noise to fill the space around him.

John stands up and walks over. “Hey,” he says softly, “Of course. Come here.” He opens his arms in invitation, and Alex hesitates for a good few seconds before stepping in and accepting the hug. Once he’s there, though, he clings on tight and buries his face in John’s chest. John is content just to hold him, warm him up, for as long as Alex needs.

When they pull apart, Alex looks marginally more relaxed, but the anxiety has been replaced by embarrassment. They close the door and sit next to each other on the bed.

“I don’t deserve you,” Alex says, cringing. “You’re not even rubbing it in.”

John laughs. “What do you actually remember?” This, really, is key.

Alex scuffs his heel on the carpet. “Going out. Drinking. I think Laf found me and took me back to his?” John nods. “Right. Most of the rest is a blur - except.” Alex hunches his shoulders. “John, shit… I can’t believe I tried to force myself on you like that.”

Ah. “You were completely wasted, Alex. It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah, fine, but…” Alex covers his face with his hands. “Even then I should have known better. Like, I shouldn’t have had that in me at all.”

“I’m twice your size. You wouldn’t have been able to do anything.”

“Not the point,” Alex mumbles. “It’s just wrong.”

“Hang on, how exactly do you remember it?” John asks, but gently, giving Alex plenty of room to say something vague.

Alex sighs and drops his hands. “It’s pretty jumbled up but there are some clearer moments. I remember trying to kiss you. Climbing on top of you even though you said no.” Alex cringes down at the floor, and although John knows for a fact that he _never_ said no, he decides not to interrupt. "Not sure after that, but then I--” Alex gestures vaguely at his groin. “I must have been out of it and on autopilot, I guess. I think you were asleep but I do remember that your arm was around me and I just wanted to feel - I don’t know - like I wasn’t completely invisible?” Alex dares a glance up at his face. “I didn’t wake you up when I was, um, doing that, did I?”

John smiles and meets Alex’s eyes and lies, casual as breathing, “Nope! I was fast asleep as soon as we got into bed.”

“Okay. Good.” Alex smiles weakly. “Please, please throw me out next time, okay?”

“Alex, it’s _really_ fine, I don’t mind. I just want you to always have a safe place to come to, no matter what. Even if you’re drunk and horny.” Alex laughs self-consciously. This refuge, John knows, is something none of Alex’s casual hook-ups will ever be able to give him. “Okay?”

Alex gives him a hesitant smile, his eyebrows pulled right up. It’s so sweet John wants to lean over and kiss him. Instead, he asks, “So, what happened?”

“Last night?” The smile melts away. Alex sighs. “My frail fucking ego happened.”

“Who was she?” John asks, intentionally using the wrong pronoun.

“He. Doesn't matter. I was just looking to unwind and everything got too fucking complicated. But let me not bother you with the sordid details of my sex life.”

Now. Now is his chance. The perfect moment to demonstrate a mix of friendly concern and practical problem-solving.

“You know,” John says, choosing his words carefully, “I’m serious when I say you can always come here if you need anything. Maybe…” And he tries to put doubt and awkwardness into his voice. “Look, this might be weird, but maybe, if that’s _all_ you’re looking for, you could - you know - come to me?”

Alex’s eyebrows shoot up again as he spins to face him. “John! Friends with benefits? Don’t be ridiculous.”

John scowls back at him. “It’s not that crazy. We’re close, right? We share everything. We’re comfortable around each other. We’ve even, you know, kissed.” _You've touched me so many times. You sucked me off, and made me jerk you off, and you don’t even remember it._ “Besides, you’re cute, and I guess you could say I’m not bad looking,” he says with a smirk. 

Alex grins at that. “You _know_ you’re gorgeous,” he teases. Then, a moment later, his expression shifts to confusion. “Weird. Deja vu. Did I-- call you that last night?”

John acts out a good-natured cringe. “Might have. You were slurring a bit but, yeah, I think so.”

“My drunk self has good taste.”

John chuckles. “So?”

“I don’t know, John. Sex can make things complicated.”

“I just worry, Alex,” John says, and he doesn’t have to amplify his genuine concern here. “You get mixed up with all sorts of people. I know you’ve had some - ah - uncomfortable encounters. I’d feel so much better to know that you’re safe - if _all_ you’re looking for is just, well, this.”

Alex sighs. “This has the potential to get really fucking weird. Your friendship is worth a million times more to me than randomly getting off.”

“Sure, but we’ll still be friends.” _Until you fall in love with me._ “Promise. It’s not like we’re going to be dating. What’s the harm, if there are no feelings involved?” 

“But that’s the thing, right? Feelings _are_ involved.” 

John’s heart stops as Alex turns to him fully now, and reaches out to grasp his right hand in both of his. His expression is fierce and intent. 

“They are?” 

“Of course! You are my _best_ friend.” _Oh._ This old punch to the gut. Alex continues earnestly. “I don’t-- I struggle with getting close to people. You know that. You know _me_ \- and for some reason you haven’t run for the hills. To have someone like that, like _you,_ in my life-- Someone who just--” Alex bites his cheek, struggling to find the right words. “Fuck. I don’t know how to talk about this shit. Let me just say, I think you’re the only person in the world who I’ve _ever_ felt a hundred percent comfortable with. I don’t want to risk fucking around with that.” He snorts to himself. “Literally _and_ figuratively, I guess.”

John plasters over his guilt and frustration with a big grin. “Don’t worry. I’m not that easy to scare away.”

Alex hums noncommittally. 

“You just need to promise you won’t fall for me,” John jokes. Alex laughs at that, warm and fond like John has just said the silliest thing, and a little piece of John’s heart breaks off. “So?”

“It’s a terrible idea.”

“That’s not a no.”

Alex smiles coyly. “It’s not.”

John’s chest floods with a weird mix of relief and anticipation. “Okay then. We can try it. Next time you want to - unwind, was it? Send me a message first, okay?”

Alex doesn’t look at him when he nods. “Are we gonna use a code word?”

John looks around the room; his eyes settle on the tub of guacamole that came with Alex’s takeout order. “Avocado?” he suggests.

“Ridiculous. I love it.”

 _I love you._ “Okay. Deal.”

***

This will be _such_ a funny story one day, John thinks. 

Maybe he’ll find a way to slip the word _avocado_ into his wedding vows - that would certainly make Alex blush - or they’ll recount it to their friends on their fifth anniversary when they’re all out celebrating, just before John gets down on one knee and asks Alex to make him the happiest man alive. 

One day - soon, hopefully - when Alex realises he loves John back, and all these games are behind them, John will confess how he’s loved him since the minute Alex wrapped his lips around John’s cock in the dark alley behind the student bar. 

They’ll eat avocado on toast the morning after the first time they say _I love you_ to each other. John will run down to the store to get a ripe one if he needs to. 

They’ll joke about healthy cholesterol in avocados when they’re in their fifties, greyer but wiser.

John will secretly add a clause to his will to say he wants to be cremated and have an avocado tree planted amid his ashes. He hopes that will make Alex cry when he reads it, but that Alex will sit in the shade of that tree and laugh and remember him. 

But - on the off chance that _he_ outlives Alex, instead, it will only be for a day or two. He’ll keep a revolver handy, just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from _I Wanna Be Yours_ by Arctic Monkeys.


	4. Both ways

It is six days after that conversation that Alex sends him an avocado emoji, followed by a string of texts.

_Alex > shit this is weird _

_Alex > can i come over? _

_Alex > after class i mean _

_Alex > i’ll bring booze _

John forces himself to wait a few minutes before responding.

_John > free after 7 _

_John > haha this IS a little weird, we’ll make some ground rules when you get here _

He goes straight back to his dorm room as soon as the class he’s in finishes. No point going to any of the others; he’s not going to absorb a single word.

***

Alex shows up looking almost as nervous as John feels. They’ve seen each other a dozen times since they agreed to try this arrangement, but this feels different. 

There’s a bottle of spiced rum in Alex’s hand.

“This is weird,” Alex says again, instead of hello.

John waves him in. “Let’s talk. We don’t have to do anything.”

Alex nods and walks in. He unscrews the cap and takes a swig, and John sees by the level that it isn’t the first one. Alex sees him looking and reaches the bottle over; John takes it, but doesn’t drink.

“Talk first, everything else later, okay?”

“Okay.” Alex perches on the edge of the bed. “So. You said rules?”

“I think that’s a good idea.” John sits down on the bed, reassuringly far away. “I guess all the usual things, right? No means no. We stop if either of us says so.”

Alex flicks his eyes up. “Yeah, obviously.”

“I’m not going to say _no_ drinking, but - not too much, okay? At least we shouldn’t be properly drunk.”

Alex hums in agreement, though it’s less than enthusiastic.

“Well? Is there anything you don’t want to do?”

Alex shrugs. “Not really, I’m fine with anything. Oh, except,” and here he blushes, “I won’t do any, um, cutesy and emotional stuff. Cuddling or whatever shit. And I’m not gonna stay over. Is that fine?”

“Yeah, of course.” _Of course not._ “This is just for fun." Maybe if he says it enough, he'll convince the persistent part of his own brain, too. "Think of it as - I don’t know - just another way of hanging out? Cardio?”

Alex bursts out laughing and a lot of the tension dissolves away. “Are you my gym coach now?”

“Well, you _should_ do more exercise.”

“Piss off!” John just grins and shrugs at that, trying to look casual. “And you? Any red lines?”

John wants to draw thick, bright, blood-red lines around Alex’s entire body to keep all the other hands out. He can’t say that. Not yet. “You’ve done a lot more stuff than I have, so I’ll take the lead from you. But I’ll say if anything gets weird. And for the record, I am here for a cuddle if you ever change your mind.” He reaches over to cuff Alex playfully on the shoulder. Alex blushes again and looks down.

“Yeah, yeah, mister perfect-boyfriend-material,” Alex jokes, but John does not find that funny at all. It’s true. He’d be an amazing boyfriend. Alex will see, soon enough. “Just don’t wanna make it weird. It’s easier if there’s a clear line, you know, between being friends and doing - this.”

“Yeah. Sure. We probably shouldn't tell the others, right?" 

Laf would _murder_ him if he found out about this arrangement.

"I don't really care, but yeah, that's fine. Not like _I_ have a reputation to uphold."

There’s a stretch of quiet, more contemplative that awkward. “So, what now?”

“Now,” Alex says, “We have a fucking drink.”

They pass the bottle between them a few times, though John makes sure to take very small sips. He needs his wits about him.

Alex puts the bottle down on the floor and runs his palms over his thighs. “Okay. How do we start this?”

Oh, John’s been waiting for this long enough. He’s played it out in his mind so many times that he’s memorised the script. “Can I kiss you?” he asks cautiously.

“Okay - but, a sexy kiss. Not a cutesy one.”

John shifts closer, giving Alex plenty of time to put a stop to this - better to break off now, before they’ve started - and puts his hand around the side of Alex’s jaw. He takes a quick look at those deep molten-chocolate eyes, then pulls Alex’s face forward and crashes their lips together. He’d prefer to start slow, sweet and gentle, but there will be time for that in the future. Instead, he presses insistently forward with his tongue and Alex’s lips yield to his. He puts all his passion, his attraction, his rising arousal into that kiss, and Alex responds a moment later with an exhilarated inhale.

John pulls back a bit. “Sexy enough?”

“Fuck, John,” Alex whispers, his eyes a little wide. “Uh. Yeah.”

John dives in again, and Alex matches him more actively this time, his tongue darting out, his teeth nipping at John’s lower lip. Then their hands start to move. John keeps one on Alex’s face and puts the other on his upper arm - but Alex’s hand goes straight for his groin.

John starts a little, because he’s unprepared to go there so soon; he was hoping for more time before Alex feels just how stiff he already is. 

Alex pulls his lips back just a little but keeps his hand in place. Makes an appreciative little hum.

“Sorry,” John says, “It’s, um, been a while.”

Alex lets out a little breathy laugh. “You first, then. What do you want?”

“Oh! Um--” _Your mouth. Your throat. Your lips kissing my cock._ “Whatever. Anything.” 

Alex pouts, breaking some of the spell. “Come on. You can’t kiss me like that, then be too shy to say what you like.” John winces a little. This would be so much easier without talking. Alex takes pity on him. “Okay, my idea to come here, so my choice, right?”

John nods, and - fuck, yes - Alex slides down onto the floor and settles in front of him. He glides his hands up John’s legs, over his hips and around to his lower back. He nuzzles his cheek along John’s inner thigh.

John just stares down, and Alex catches him when he glances up. “Wanna take your pants off for me?” he asks with a smirk.

“Oh, shit, yeah.” John unbuttons his jeans and slides them down past his thighs. Alex helps him tug them off the rest of the way. When he puts his hands back on John’s legs, John flinches. 

Alex pauses and looks up. “What’s wrong?”

“Your hands are cold,” he says, laughing, and it melts away the weird tension between them.

Alex grins up brightly. “Warm me up, then?”

John takes Alex’s hands and wraps them in both of his, rubbing briskly, then brings them to his mouth and blows hot air between them, lets his lips graze Alex’s fingertips. He’s done this before - often, even - and Alex’s smile becomes sweet and tender at the familiar gesture.

When he can finally force himself to let go, Alex touches the side of John’s thigh experimentally. 

“Okay, better,” John says.

“Good. Now get rid of your underwear,” Alex hums, and starts to run his tongue from John’s knee right up his inner thigh. 

The combination of mind-melting sensation and sudden self-consciousness makes John’s fingers shake as he slides the waistband down - but he needn’t have worried, because Alex eyes his cock like a starving man at a feast.

Alex loops his arms under and around John’s thighs and puts his hands on top of John’s hips. “You don’t have to be careful,” he says matter-of-factly. “Just let me know when you’re close, right?”

“Okay,” John says. He gives himself a few minutes, tops.

And, god, it’s better than his memories of the first time, better even than his dreams - because Alex is mostly sober, present, focused, and it’s just the two of them. 

Alex starts with his tongue, pressing and flicking and gliding, then spreads his lips and slides them around John’s cockhead. There’s very little preamble before Alex is pushing forward, down, down, until he has swallowed most of John’s length and John feels the rare and incredible sensation of Alex’s throat pressing against and accommodating him.

He doesn’t know how expressive he should be, but he can’t help groaning and twitching his hips forward in time to the bob of Alex’s head and the press of his tongue. Fuck, Alex is good at this. He’s had too much practice.

John hangs on as long as he can, but Alex unravels him expertly - and before he knows it John needs to make a gasping, desperate sound to signal his impending orgasm. Alex squeezes his hip to confirm he’s got the message and doubles down. John shoots off down his throat and, _fuck,_ everything about this is glorious and wonderful and over too fucking fast.

Alex swallows diligently, then slides his lips off just as John is getting to a point of uncomfortable oversensitivity. Alex grins up, and John smiles mistily down. 

_I love you._

But, “Your turn,” is what he says instead, after he’s caught his breath.

“Okay. Great. I want you on top of me, holding me down, using your hand,” Alex says, and climbs up past him to lie on the bed. He slides off his pants and hikes up his shirt. 

John crawls over and settles over him, knees on either side of Alex’s hips and one arm propped next to his shoulder. This… this is _so_ right. This is exactly where Alex belongs, smiling up at him with trusting eyes and anticipating all the pleasures that John so fervently wants to give him.

He almost leans in for a tender kiss before he remembers - no cutesy stuff.

Alex didn’t really specify what ‘hold me down’ means, so he shifts down to his elbow and slides his hand behind Alex's head, gripping his hair. Alex hums appreciatively.

John tries to keep his gestures as functional as he can, but he can’t help the caress as he slides his hand over Alex’s waist and hip and down, down, down. He grazes his fingers along the top of Alex’s thigh and the bottom of his stomach before homing in and wrapping his fingers around Alex’s shaft. He’s hard already, and John thrills that some of this arousal must be because of him. He keeps his touch light, barely stroking until Alex starts to squirm and huff, then increases the pressure.

“Fuck, John,” Alex moans - but something about the sound of his name on those breathless lips feels wrong. He needs to save that for when they’re doing this for real. John stills his hand. Alex opens his eyes and makes a little frustrated twitch. “What’s wrong?”

“This is really silly,” John says, “But, can I make a request?”

“Jesus, John, you have my dick in your hand - I’ll give you fucking _anything._ ”

John doesn’t allow his brain to spin out to all the possibilities. “Could you - would you mind calling me something else - like, I don’t know, ‘Jackie’? While we’re doing this, I mean.”

“Jackie?” Alex says with a surprised laugh. “Why?”

John flushes and smiles down, and his brain isn’t fast enough. “It’s what you called me when we--”

_Fuck!_

Alex looks at him, confused. “When we - what?”

_Fuck, John, you idiot. You’re going to give it away._

“Oh, ha, sorry - I meant, when _you…_ ” His brain scrambles for an explanation. Better stick as close to the truth as possible. “The other night when you stayed over? You were calling me that while you were…”

Alex pushes up on his elbows as his expression darkens, forcing John to release his hair and sit up too. “I thought you said you were asleep.”

_Fuck fuck fuck. Why is lying so complicated?_

“I mean, I was,” John says; he finally takes his hand off Alex’s cock and puts it reassuringly on his hip instead. “At the start. I mean you were pretty much done when I woke up, and I didn’t want to embarrass you or make you feel bad about it.”

“Oh, god,” Alex says and flops back down, covering his face with his hands. “I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay,” John says, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. “Really.” Alex cringes. “Do you want me to keep going?”

Alex thinks about it for a second, then nods. “Yeah, please. Jackie.” He laughs. “That sounds so weird.”

John leans back over him and smiles. “You wanted to draw a line. This keeps it separate, don’t you think? Lexi?”

“No, don’t you fucking dare! Pet names fall firmly into the cutesy category.” 

“Oh, my apologies, Mr Hamilton,” John says and wraps his hand around him again. 

Alex groans and arches up. “Ah, fuck it. Call me anything you want, just don’t _stop._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from _Do I Wanna Know_ by Arctic Monkeys.


	5. His claws draw blood

It’s the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday when Alex summons him out of class and John gets to fuck him for the first time. 

Alex opens up below him and claws at his shoulders as John pushes into him, burying his face in Alex’s neck and trying desperately not to cry from just how utterly overwhelmed he is. His life is _so close_ to complete. 

He aches to bridge the final little distance - just three words between him and heaven.

Not yet. Not yet. Alex isn’t ready. 

But Alex is so perfect when he comes - their foreheads pressed together close enough to kiss, his legs wrapped desperately around John’s hips, his body loose and vulnerable underneath him - that John can’t help himself. “Mine,” he sighs into Alex’s sweaty hair as their panting breaths and heart rates slow.

“Don’t be stupid, Jackie,” Alex laughs. “I’ll never belong to anyone.”

***

“Liz.” 

“Hmm?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

“Eliza!”

“Fine.” She leans in. “You look different. Happier? I’m just dying to know - did something happen between you two?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Alex, silly. Did you tell him you have, you know, feelings for him?”

“Jesus christ, I don’t have _feelings_ for Alex!” A hum. “I don’t!” A look. “Has Laf been talking to you?”

“John - it’s just really obvious, okay? I’m not surprised Laf figured it out too--”

“Fuck, the two of you!”

“Sit down, John, please, it’s okay. I won’t say a thing. And Alex is a moron about this stuff, you know that, so you don’t have to worry about him figuring it out.”

“Fuck. Okay. Just - can you just _not_? I don’t need this shit from you, of all people.”

“John? Are you _really_ okay?” A pause. “I just think…” Fiddling. “You should say something, before someone else…”

“ _What?_ ”

“No, no, don’t worry. Not me. He’s all yours, I know that.”

“Liz - what?”

“Just-- Wanted you to know that _I’m_ not going to make things complicated.”

***

On a Saturday night, John sprains his wrist punching some pushy asshole who doesn’t take Alex’s no for an answer. 

He watches Alex dancing, as always, so he sees the trouble brewing by the narrowing line of Alex’s mouth. Then the guy puts a hand where it’s not wanted and Alex shoves him and John is on his feet in a flash.

He flies over just as the guy puts his hands on Alex again, and John uses all of his forward momentum to propel his fist. The little flash of pain is masked behind his adrenaline, then behind the feel of Alex’s hands on him, holding him back as John yells at the guy to fuck off.

Alex fusses over his hand but John waves him off, pretends it doesn’t hurt. Then Alex insists, “If you’re going to be my knight in shining armour, you may as well stick around and dance!”

Alex puts his hands on John’s hips to get him moving, then twists and rubs and grinds against him. Alex is laughing, completely comfortable, and his touches would be suggestive if it wasn’t for the entirely innocent smile on his face. John plays along; and pretends that it’s real; and pretends he wasn’t hoping to fuck Alex that night as a reward for all of this when Alex slips off with someone else.

***

On a Monday night, Alex is straddling John’s hips, groaning, grinding himself down, burying John deep inside him-- when he suddenly stops and looks down, his expression going from sultry to thoughtful in a second.

"Oh shit, did you do the econ write-up yet?"

John can’t change gears fast enough. "What?"

"The two-page thing. It's only due in…" He leans over to where he’s left his phone on John’s desk, pulling off a little but then settling back down on John’s cock, and starts to type up a note. 

John wants to scream, to shake him. How can Alex be worrying about school work _now_? John can barely think between the throb in his cock and the pounding in his chest.

A beat later, Alex looks down, as though he’s just remembered him. "Oh. Sorry!" He blushes and tosses his phone down on the mattress beside them. 

John smiles wryly. "You back with me?" he asks, running his hands up Alex’s thighs to his hips - god, his glorious angular hips. He takes a firmer hold and grinds up, just to make the point.

Alex hums, puts his warm hands on John’s chest and leans onto them, then twists and clenches against him. He grins at the groan John simply can’t restrain, but it’s a teasing, friendly smile - not the look of passion and adoration he will wear when John replays this moment in his dreams that night.

***

A few days later, Alex has a hickey on his neck that John didn’t put there.

“Who gave you that?” John asks.

Alex shrugs. “Some girl.”

“You didn’t message me,” he says carefully, casually.

Alex shrugs again. “I was out.”

“I thought you said you’d come to me first.”

“John,” Alex says, looking up at him now with sharp eyes. “Why does it matter? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” John rolls his eyes. “Sorry for asking, jeez.”

Alex seems all too happy to drop it.

***

Alex shows up late for his first class on a Thursday morning, looking exhausted but incredibly pleased with himself. When John catches him after the lecture, Alex confesses he’s been up all night with a girl - a girl Alex _likes,_ not just a hook-up. A girl he was up all night just _talking_ to. A girl he wants to ask out but isn’t sure how.

John listens and absorbs the immense blow: the revelation that Alex was looking for something more. A connection. A _commitment_. He can’t brace against the way this rips through his armour.

The name sounds familiar - definitely someone in their extended circle - so John spends three hours going through class lists to find her schedule and tracks her down. He hangs out outside her lecture hall, missing his own class, and feigns bumping into her as she leaves.

“Oh, hey… Kitty, right?” he says, pretending at vague recognition.

“Hi! It’s John, isn’t it - Alex’s friend?”

He rubs the back of his neck wryly. “Alex who?” he says jokingly. “He’s been so busy with his boyfriend I hardly see him anymore.”

The shift in her friendly smile would not be noticeable if he wasn’t looking for it.

“Is that so?”

He shrugs. “You know how these things go. Young love and all.” He makes small talk until he has an excuse to split off, but a quick glance behind him confirms her stormy expression as she whips out her phone and starts typing.

***

Alex shows up at his dorm room that evening on the verge of tears, and all it takes is for John to put his arms around him for the floodgates to open.

John draws Alex down to sit beside him on the bed, lets him slip his cold hands between his own thighs to warm them, and listens to Alex cry about the girl and getting invited over just so he could get kicked out and something that confused him about a boyfriend she never mentioned. 

“You don’t need her, Alex,” he says when the sobs are just sniffles again.

“At this rate, I won’t _ever_ have anyone.”

“You’ve got me,” John suggests. When will Alex finally get the fucking hint?

Not tonight, it seems. Alex looks up at him from where he’s tucked under John’s arm and smiles, soft and lovely. “Yeah, always. But you know, like, romantically.”

_We could try it,_ John says silently. _Here’s a crazy thought - let’s go on a date! Funny thing, Alex, I love you more than life itself._

But he can’t. He’s taken this too far now, lied for too long, for him to be the one to suggest it. Alex would feel so betrayed to know John’s been harbouring feelings all this time.

A little later that night, when Alex has settled and they’re just hanging out, he puts his hand on Alex’s thigh in a way that’s right on the line between incidental and suggestive. Alex pretends not to notice, and shrugs it off so casually that John knows for a fact his offer of a casual fuck has been turned down.

***

A few days after that, they’re in bed together again - Alex on his back and John’s face between his splayed legs. 

John takes his time sucking a big, dark, livid mark on the inside of Alex’s left thigh. Alex groans and squirms, and John needs to hold his leg firmly down to accomplish his goal. 

He can leave marks, too. _John was here._

He’s chased off the girl, but maybe the next person who tries to put a hand on Alex will see it and think twice, too. Maybe Alex will get rejected, thrown out, end up feeling wounded and frustrated and come crawling back to him.

Alex looks at the mark afterwards as he puts his underwear back on. “Wow, John. Are you doing this because you’re jealous?” he asks with a laugh.

John laughs in return and doesn’t answer.

Alex looks at him sharply, but drops it.

***

Nothing noticeable changes, but it’s a week, then two, then three and Alex doesn’t come to see him again. Not for sex, at least; they see each other plenty socially, but John notices that there are usually others around, even if it’s just Herc or Peggy hanging out doing their own thing.

And Alex is exactly the same around him, otherwise - still affectionate, still brilliant and bright and conspiratorial, still full of humour.

But it’s not _enough_ anymore. 

John’s bones are aching from withdrawal. And how is John supposed to get Alex to realise he’s in love with him if he can’t rely on those passionate moments to convey things he cannot say out loud? It’s not fair for Alex to tease him with promises of sex and then withdraw them so abruptly. Doesn’t John deserve it? Or an explanation, at least?

It’s not like Alex has gone celibate. 

Oh, _no,_ he’s been fucking his way around campus with all of his usual gusto and doing a very bad job of hiding the evidence. And, funny - John knows he’s trying to hide it, because Alex was never cagey about his sexual adventures before but he doesn’t bring any of it up now. John sees the signs. The same clothes two days in a row. New marks on his skin - bites, scratches, carpet burns. New contacts in his phone.

Fuck, the sexual frustration is nothing next to the way the jealousy eats away at him like acid.

He’s worried, he tells himself - because if Alex isn’t coming to him for sex, he could be putting himself in unsafe situations. And since Alex won’t even _talk_ to him about it, John can’t make sure he’s around to look out for him. He’s a good friend. He just wants Alex to be _safe._

So that is the only, _only_ reason he follows Alex home one day. 

He doesn’t even plan to do it, except he’s out running errands in the city and he spots Alex across the subway car and - well, the city is fucking huge, so this must be fate.

He studies Alex, sees how small and tired he lets himself look away from the scrutiny of his friends. John thought that vulnerable posture was reserved just for him, but here are dozens of strangers getting to see Alex diminished.

He stays half a block behind him, his phone out so he can pretend he has no idea Alex is there in case he gets spotted. He walks right past the door Alex goes into and glances at the number and the facade. Drops a pin on the map when he’s far enough away.

He needs to pick up groceries the next day and there’s a branch of his usual store right by Alex’s place, so what’s the harm if he goes there instead? And since he’s all the way there, he can swing by and take another quick look at the building. The extra forty-minute commute isn’t a burden.

***

John googles nearby shops and cafes so he can have more excuses for being in Alex’s neighbourhood. 

He loiters outside the building, on the street, at times when he knows Alex is away, and times when he knows he’s home. Sort-of hopes Alex will catch him out there and confront him, let John act out his surprise at this cosmic coincidence, then invite him up to this sacred space that no one has been allowed to breach. 

_That_ would be a big step. Fucking Alex in Alex’s own bed is something he’d have over all the others.

***

“I’m worried. About Alex.”

“Why? Did something happen? What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. He seems off.”

“Herc - tell me.”

“Was hoping _you’d_ know.”

“Is he in some sort of trouble?” A shrug. “Jesus, just tell me. Did something happen? Did he say something to you?”

“No. He’s just got that look - like, a little lost? - in his eye. You know?”

“Shit. Okay, you’re stressing me out here. Alex isn’t talking to me about-- some stuff. Did you see him with someone? Who was it? When? Where did they go?” A raised eyebrow. “No, don’t you _fucking_ dare give me that look, Herc.”

“Maybe you should ask him.”

“No.”

“Maybe you should _tell_ him.”

“Fuck _off!_ ”

***

Alex is late coming to see him for their planned afternoon of eating cheap takeout sushi and watching movies on John’s laptop - or, at least, later than usual by his standards - and John is already a little buzzed on bourbon. John doesn't mind being a lower priority, but he _does_ mind being forgotten entirely. 

_John > you on your way?_

_Alex > shit_

_Alex > sorry had a rough night_

_Alex > can I come by tomorrow instead?_

Fuck, this isn’t fair. John isn’t the one who’s been up all night drinking and fucking god-knows-who, so why must he be the one who gets messed around? He’s been looking forward to seeing Alex all day - and now? 

_John > what were you doing?_

_John > wrong question_

_John > WHO??_

He stares at the bottle. That’s what Alex would do, isn’t it? Drink until the problems recede and courage floods in.

A reply chimes.

_Alex > okay seriously what the fuck john?_

What right does Alex have to be angry at him?

_John > tell me i’m wrong_

Alex doesn’t respond. John waits five minutes and then calls him. Alex doesn’t answer. He calls again. Again. 

_Alex > stop callign i don;t want to talk to yuo_

John calls again. 

Then he picks up the bourbon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the poem _Things That Happened During Petsitting That I Remind Myself Are Not Metaphors for My Heart_ by Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz.
> 
> !! PSA !! I'm doing a Kinktober prompt thing, pop over to Tumblr and send through a request (anon or otherwise)!


	6. My back is turned on you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter features an attempted/initiated rape. Please proceed with caution. If you'd rather avoid it, you can skip to the scene break about two thirds down.

he’s surprised to find himself in the city and not quite sure how he got there but certain where he’s going 

Alex

even drunk in the dark he can find the building easily

he’s not mad anymore no not really just tired of playing games and maybe it’s time to come clean at last

doesn’t know which unit but he has a flash of inspiration and he checks the mailboxes ahhh only one is unlabelled so that must be it and he tries three different floors before he finds the right sequence of numbers

bangs on the door

jesus fuck if anyone else is here and touching his Alex he is going to fucking _murder_ them--

Alex opens the door with red eyes and his face like a storm but all the anger floods off and surprise replaces it and _he’s wearing the missing cardigan_ John _knew it_

“John? What are you--”

“Who did you fuck?” 

this seems like the most important question right now

“Christ, John! It’s the middle of the night. What are you doing here?”

oh no Alex is being _evasive_ he can’t have that

“Fucked so many people you can’t even remember, huh?”

John tries to go inside but Alex is holding the door half-closed

“How do you know where I live?”

“Is he still here? I’m gonna fuck him up!”

“Who are you-- John, you’re drunk!”

then another door opens and a strange face looks out and Alex says sorry to the person and then John is let inside - _inside_ \- the secret apartment and it looks pretty normal actually he didn’t know what he was expecting

Alex has his arms crossed and he looks a little mad but that’s silly because John is here to declare his love - oh really is that why he came here that’s good to know right right right - and hang on is Alex talking maybe he should tune in--

“--how you found it but, John, this is not okay. You can’t come here again.”

“Needed to see you. Got something to say.”

“John, I said not today, okay? Look, I had a really shitty night last night and I’m just trying to process--”

oh John is getting angry now because Alex sounds _sad_ which means something must be wrong and nobody had better have hurt his Alex he’ll fuck them up he’ll _kill_ them 

“What happened?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it right now, okay? And especially not when you’re wasted.” I’m drunk on love you idiot John thinks and then he giggles because Alex makes him so fucking happy-- “Shit. Can I call you a cab? Take you home?”

no he’s _not_ going _away_ John needs to make it _very clear_ he’s here now and he’s _not_ leaving until Alex realises _how much_ they are _in love_

“No!” 

why does Alex look so startled and did he just take a step back is he running away running off to fuck someone else again

“John? What’s going on? Why are you here?”

maybe if he holds on to Alex his head will stop spinning quite so badly and Alex will be able to feel all this fucking _love_ radiating out from him and he’ll stop running away just long enough so John can _say it_

he puts his hand on Alex but Alex pushes it off and that doesn’t make any kind of sense because surely he’s still allowed to _touch_ isn’t he _for fuck’s sake_

“Jesus, John, get off me. I told you I don’t want to.”

“Come here.” 

because _here_ is where Alex belongs and he tries to hold him again and Alex steps back some more

“No, John! Fuck off! You need to get the _fuck_ out of here.”

 _no_ he can’t do that because 

“I love you.” 

wow he said it!! good job John Laurens mama would be proud of you but wait _hang on_ Alex doesn’t throw himself into his arms he puts his hands on his head and turns away and that really doesn’t make sense anymore

“Fuck! God! This is a nightmare,” Alex is saying all broken and high-pitched, “I need to fucking wake up!”

it’s easier to grab onto Alex and hold him when his back is turned so John picks him up so he can stop fucking _running away_ for one second and just _listen_ to him and Alex turns in his arms and it’s cute how Alex tries to push at his chest to get free because John is much much _much_ stronger

“No, John, please don’t! No, no - I don’t want to. Put me down, fuck!” 

why is Alex crying

John holds on tighter just so he can make Alex _feel better_ and keep him _safe_ and god he’s so _cold_ again

“It’s okay. Forget all the other people who fucked you. I love you. _I’m_ gonna warm you up now.” 

at least that’s what he _tries_ to say but his tongue doesn’t want to cooperate but maybe it still works for kissing 

hmmm he tries his best but it must not be good since Alex turns his face away

“Fuck, John, no, of _all_ days - not today. Please!”

ohhhh Alex is saving himself for someone else isn’t he well not on _his_ watch John is _all_ the man Alex needs and it’s time he realised it

oh! maybe he needs to show Alex in a way he understands and Alex understands _fucking_ so maybe he just needs to carry him over here to the bed and lay him down and strip him naked and make him moan and shake and why is Alex already shaking John hasn’t even gotten started yet

he drops Alex on the bed and himself on Alex but Alex manages to slip out from under him but John’s got hold of his wrist and it’s _safer_ that way he can keep Alex _safe_ but only if he’s _close enough_

“Let me go, John.”

“No.”

“You’re scaring me!”

“I love you.” 

this is the main thing isn’t it

“Why are you doing this?”

“Need to fuck you and talk to you and you _can’t_ leave until after.”

“I don’t want to do that, John. Let me go.”

funny how Alex likes _doing_ all the talking but he doesn’t wanna listen well that’s too bad 

“Don’t care. Can’t leave.”

“Okay.” Alex is whispering now and he’s calm and soothing and it’s nice because Alex is being sweet to him again. “Okay, I’m not leaving. Just going to the kitchen, okay, Jackie? Get something to drink. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Promise?” 

still holding the wrist nice and safe

“Yeah, I promise, Jackie, okay?”

Alex promises so it must be fine and the kitchen’s not dangerous and there’s no one there for Alex to fuck so he lets go

Alex vanishes and John gets worried right away but Alex comes back and he’s holding a glass of juice for him and Alex is so considerate it’s just one of the million billion things he loves about him

“You thirsty, Jackie?” 

and John isn’t thirsty until Alex suggests he might be and then he realises he is _parched_ so he takes the glass and downs it and it tastes funny for juice but maybe it’s just a different kind of fruit there are _so_ many kinds of fruit these days

“Come here.” 

he grabs for Alex again and - got him!! - pulls him close in his big safe strong arms and tight against his chest and Alex’s eyes are wide now with excitement or maybe something else but he doesn’t struggle again so it doesn’t matter

“You’re drunk.” Alex touches his face all gentle and it’s so _nice_ that Alex is being nice again. “We don’t have to do this now.”

“You fuck me when _you’re_ drunk.” 

“I’ve never-- oh. Shit.”

“You’re mine.” 

John says it just to remind him

Alex tries to wriggle free again but John can’t have that because they haven’t fucked yet and he doesn’t want more juice so he rolls them over and presses Alex down into the mattress with his body and holds his wrist for good measure and mmm it feels good when Alex gets all squirmy underneath him when John pushes his hips down to stop him

“No, Jackie-- John, _please_ don’t.” 

Alex is crying again which is silly because John just wants to fuck him nice and slow and Alex likes it when every other guy on the planet sticks it in so why not him

“You’re mine!” 

John growls it again because clearly Alex is not getting the message which is strange because isn’t Alex supposed to be smart and why is John suddenly feeling so tired does he need to take a nap first

“Okay, Jackie. Don’t get mad.” Alex is crying but then he smiles and fucking _finally_ the message is sinking in and everything is fine. “It’s okay. I’m here. What do you need?”

“You.” 

John closes his eyes for a second maybe he needs just a teensy quick little nap-- _NO_ he needs to wake up and fuck his Alex for as long as it takes until he says I love you back

“Calm down, okay? Just relax. I’m here. You want me to touch you, Jackie?”

“Yes.” 

“Okay. Okay, Jackie. Can you let go of my arm for a second?”

Alex hasn’t said he loves him yet and until he does John can’t let go because Alex is still _so cold_ and he’s just going to run away and fuck someone else and then what

“No. I love you.” 

why does Alex look so worried he shouldn’t be because John loves him more than anything and he just wants to take the tears away 

maybe he should try kisses again because kisses are so nice and Alex likes them 

but no seems like kisses are still not working properly if Alex is twisting away like that

but maybe Alex just didn’t hear him the first few times

“I love you. You’re mine. I love you.”

Alex stares up at him like he’s too dumb to understand these words and yes maybe Alex has not had a lot of love in his life but _fuck_ if John isn’t a shining example of devotion then what is 

and isn’t it time he got some reward for his efforts

“Come on.” 

John grinds his hips down to make it clear what he wants because Alex is being sooo stupid today maybe he just needs a really obvious hint

“Calm down, Jackie, it’s okay, I’m doing it.”

Alex’s free hand slides between them and touches him where he needs it and ahhh that’s nice but he’s just a little sleepy and Alex’s hair smells so nice like coconut and love and mmmm maybe he can just close his eyes for a second and--

***

\--John crashes awake and immediately knows everything is wrong. 

Mostly what’s wrong is that the whole world is spinning violently and his stomach is on fucking fire.

He chokes the bile down. 

Where is he? Why is his head throbbing? And why are there claxons of dread going off in every corner of his mind?

He lies very still and tries to get his bearings. 

Not his room. No - he went somewhere, had something really important to do. Shit. Danger, his brain says.

Something to do with--

Alex? Warning. Danger. Disaster. 

Shit, did something happen to Alex? There’s a flash - Alex, scared, crying - and, fuck, if John can’t even see straight then how’s he supposed to get up off this bed and go help him?

Bed? Wait, whose bed?

Fuck, he must have drunk a _lot_ more than he thought. 

John groans as he pushes himself up into a half-sitting cramped lean. He is greeted by a confusing sight.

Alex is sitting on the floor in the corner of the room with his legs pulled up against his chest. He’s clutching his phone in one hand and gripping around his shins with the other. His eyes are wide open, staring into the middle distance, and his jaw is tensed like wires. There’s a broom propped next to him. As soon as John moves, Alex’s eyes dart to him and he draws in on himself, somehow becoming smaller, though his expression hardens.

John has all sorts of confusing flashes in his mind, but none of them quite add up to _this._ His vision blurs and the dull throb in his head becomes more of an acute pain right behind his eyes. The world looks and tastes like staleness.

He breaks out in shivering sweats. Fuck, he hasn’t been this hungover in - probably ever.

And Alex looks so freaked out. John’s going to _kill_ whoever did that to him. But first he needs to figure out why every cell in his brain is screaming at him.

“Alex?” he says through a dry throat. “What’s - going on?”

“Don’t fucking move,” Alex says. He is typing something on his phone but barely glances away from him. “Herc’s going to come get you. Are you gonna throw up?”

John considers for just a second. “Probably. Yeah.”

“Bin’s there next to you,” Alex says, pointing to the side of the bed.

“Thanks.” Everything is _wrong._ He doesn’t know _why._ “Alex? What happened?”

“Do me a favour and just shut the fuck up, okay?”

Then Alex starts to cry, brokenly, raggedly, and John’s _everything_ aches because the crying is setting off more alarm bells. 

But the moment he shifts so he can get up and go put his arm around Alex, Alex’s eyes go even wider and he makes a blind grab for the broom.

Wait - what?

His brain takes a very long moment to start assembling little clumps of his fractured mental jigsaw puzzle. The image resolves - full of gaps, but clear enough in its broad outline. And if his vague recollections weren’t definitive, the sight of Alex’s white knuckles around the thin wooden handle is more than enough to confirm that John has irreparably fucked things up forever. 

He clamps a hand over his mouth, against the shock, the horror, against the sudden bubbling nausea. He just about manages to grab the plastic bucket beside the bed before the contents of his stomach flood up his throat.

There’s a sickly aftertaste of orange juice.

Shit. He needs - something. Water?

John shifts to get off the bed. Alex’s eyes dart up.

“Don’t move!” he yelps.

“I’m just-- Bathroom?” he croaks. If he could move any further than that, he’d be throwing himself out of the window.

Alex considers for a second, then nods and points.

John stumbles across to the bathroom, throws up again, rinses his mouth, drinks from the tap and then regrets it as soon as the water hits his stomach, scrubs his feverish face. The reflection looking back at him is fractured and lost. Transparent.

He’s too dizzy to stay standing. He stumbles back to the bed and drops onto it. A million spears stab into his skull and his chest.

He needs to do something - to say something.

“Alex, shit-- I--”

“Shut up!” Alex yells at him, his voice hoarse and bitter. “Shut _up._ Shut up!”

John stops talking, and starts crying silently into the duvet. The emotions just leak out of him without his permission.

They stay there like that, trapped in mutual misery, for what might be minutes or days.

Then there’s a knock on the door and Alex shoots up and out of the room. 

John hears some indistinct conversation, then Alex’s strained laugh, and then Herc appears in the doorway. John wonders for a second if he’s about to get beaten up or just outright murdered - he’d be okay with either option - but Herc just hauls him carefully off the bed, half-carries him out of the apartment and gets him, somehow, back to his room. Even makes sure he has some water and crackers handy for when he can stomach them.

John lies in a nauseated, numb stupor until the sun goes down, and then comes back up again. The memories come back in pieces, like a foggy, old-fashioned reel of film that keeps snapping and tangling. 

Nobody comes to beat him up, or outright murder him. Seems like Alex has, with uncharacteristic restraint, chosen not to share any details of what happened. He is tortured by the tiny spark of hope that, maybe, this means there is something to salvage from the wreckage. It actually makes him feel worse. He doesn’t want a second chance.

And he doesn’t want to be alive, but he’s too much of a coward to do anything about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from _Almost Lover_ by Alison Sudol.


	7. I let you inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Je ne sais pas quoi faire d'autre!” ~ "I don't know what else to do!"  
> "Bonne chance!" ~ "Good luck!"

John sinks into a starless pit.

He doesn’t know what to expect when he dares to leave his dorm room the next day - entirely unready to face the world, still brimful of nausea and self-loathing - but it’s not Liz’s concerned arm threaded through his, or her gentle questions about whether he’s feeling okay. 

He stumbles through the day in a haze and can’t explain why he goes to class - certainly not to learn anything - but somehow it’s easier to just follow the normal pattern of the day, as though this academic routine can somehow dampen the shock of how completely he has ruined the most important thing in his life. 

John can’t decide if he’s more relieved or worried that Alex doesn’t show up to the class they have together. 

When he gets back to his dorm later that afternoon, John finds a box full of his stuff outside his door. The red cardigan is in there, crumpled and unwashed, but there’s also a whole stack of little things John has long since forgotten, including a novel he’d leant Alex, a travel mug he’d given him to try to wean him off his takeaway cup addiction, an old scarf with his high school logo on it, and even a few cheap ballpoint pens Alex must have swiped off his desk. The entirety of a friendship told in cold, useless junk. John brings the box inside but shoves the whole thing under his bed without unpacking it.

***

Having destroyed the only really significant relationship in his life, John finds that he is flush with free time. He doesn’t really have any idea what to fill it with, so he doubles down on his swimming and studies and still has far too many hours every day to spend thinking about Alex.

He doesn’t see Alex for two weeks. And it’s not just that Alex avoids him; he vanishes from campus. 

People keep asking him - obviously, _him,_ Alex’s shadow - where Alex is, and John doesn’t have an answer. Even Herc doesn’t know, other than that he gets clipped replies to the texts he sends to check in. It is only when one of his professors stops him - obviously, _him,_ Alex’s partner in crime - and asks John to wish Alex a speedy recovery on her behalf, that he puzzles out that Alex must have taken sick leave. 

Workaholic Alex. Alex-who-lives-to-study. Alex, who makes notes for his essays in the middle of sex. _Alex_ \- who has a secret goal to extract every cent of value from his scholarship as a rebellion against all of the social services that fell short when he needed them.

For some reason, this hits it home more than anything else. In those moments when John’s psyche tries to cushion his overwhelming guilt - to remind him he was drunk and emotional and nothing had _really_ happened before he’d passed out - the fact that Alex willingly misses two weeks of school because of him stokes the shame right back up again.

It throws everything else into stark relief, too. Without the cozy fiction that Alex is - or will be - okay with everything John is doing, and having erased the hope that Alex could ever be his now, John’s actions take on a darker hue. He didn’t see it before - it had all somehow made _sense_ before as the means to a nobler end - but, fuck! As a sort of penance, he catalogues every deception and abuse in detail, generating a shocking and seemingly endless mental list of every way in which he is sick and broken.

In his calmer, more magnanimous moments, he acknowledges that the final tally shows he is, above all else, a coward.

In the moments when he is breathlessly screaming or sobbing into his pillow, mourning everything he has wrecked, he knows for certain that he is nothing but trash.

And the _thing_ he almost did is so enormous that John has no way of processing it. He can’t even say the word in his own head. All he thinks of, all day long, is the sight of Alex’s eyes wide with fear and mistrust and his whitened knuckles around the handle of the broom, and all he dreams of, all night long, is every sick and horrid permutation of how that night could have played out. 

The dreams where Alex comes back from the kitchen with a giant knife and stabs him over and over in the chest are the most nightmarish, but at least they’re the ones he doesn’t wake up disgusted and hard from.

***

The others pick up on John’s increasingly morose mood, and John gets the feeling they are treating this fallout like a breakup. They assume, with cruel irony but perhaps with some justification, that it’s Alex’s fault. After all, John is steady and patient and _kind,_ and Alex is a walking stormfront - and, well, Alex can’t deny that he takes advantage of John sometimes so maybe he just finally pushed it too far. 

John doesn’t correct them - coward! - but only because it would force him to infringe on the privacy Alex is clearly so eager to maintain. Hearing himself being discussed as the victim in all this makes him sick to his stomach.

Alex pulls away from the group, so they all latch onto John with pointed and intrusive questions, hungry for the gossip, until John’s steadfast silence makes it clear that he’s not going to say anything. Only Peggy avoids him, like she’s perceptive enough to smell the stink of betrayal and violence on him.

***

“ _Je ne sais pas quoi faire d'autre!_ ”

“I can’t, Laf.”

“Our Alexander is not well. He does not come to visit. He does not want to go out with us. I have not seen him speaking to anyone.”

“Well, he definitely won’t speak to _me._ Trust me. I’ll just make it worse.”

“What happened? Tell me, please, _mon ami._ I just want to help you both.”

“No, Laf. I’m not going to.”

“Whatever he did, you need to move past it. You are the one who knows Alexander better than all of us. You must try.”

“Really, I can’t.”

“Ah, John! You need to stop being so, ah - _égoïste? Comment on le dit?_ ” 

“Selfish.”

“Yes. _Exactly._ ”

***

John gets ambushed. 

He’s sitting alone on the bed in Laf’s room, where he spends a lot more time now because being alone in his own is too depressing, scrolling on his phone instead of working on a paper that’s due in a few days that he gives no fucks about, when the door flies open and Alex - looking sharper and thinner and more tired than ever - gets shoved inside. 

Laf calls a frantic, “ _Bonne chance!_ ” and then slams the door behind him.

Alex gives John one startled look and immediately turns to the door. He tries the handle, but it’s locked. His shoulders tense up as he bangs on the wood with the flat of his hand.

“Let me out of here, you French fuck!” 

There’s no answer. When repeated banging and shouting doesn’t budge the door, Alex whips out his phone and puts it to his ear without turning around. 

“Herc? Yeah, at Laf’s, fucker locked me in.” A glance over his shoulder. “Um-- Yes.” A breath. “No. Can you come get me out?” A long, heavy pause. “What the _fuck?_ Well, you know what, fuck you too, asshole!”

Alex hangs up and moves his arm like he’s about to throw his phone on the floor, but then thinks better of it and jams it back into his pocket. He buries one hand in his hair and he reaches the other out to steady himself against the door. 

John sits silently, frozen by the cold trickle of dread running down his spine. This is bad, bad, bad.

He can read all of the emotional notes in Alex’s posture fluently: shame, frustration, tiredness, fragility. Anger smothering all of it. Worse that this catalogue, though, is the certainty that he knows exactly what Alex needs - a big, long, warm hug to melt away the fog of vulnerability; a few nitpicky questions about something that came up in class to distract him from his darker thoughts; a walk down to his favourite cafe for an iced coffee to cool his temper - but he’s not able to give him any of it.

“I can’t fucking believe this,”Alex says quietly. “Just-- Don’t.”

John wasn’t going to.

Alex turns around without looking at him, puts his back to the door and slides down so that he is sitting on the floor, his legs bent up and his crossed arms on his knees. He bows his head and rests his cheek on his forearms, looking away.

John’s phone vibrates.

_Laf > you are not allowed out until you two have had a proper conversation _

John swears under his breath. The very last thing Alex needs is to be forced into another encounter with him.

_John > you have no fucking clue how inappropriate this is _

_John > open the door NOW _

Laf just sends back a shrug emoji.

He tries to call, but Laf hangs up right away.

“For fuck’s sake,” John mutters. Anger starts to seep up from some deep well inside him - anger at himself, at Laf, even at Alex.

The silence stretches between them like a coiling snake.

John is painfully aware of every inch of skin and each thud of his heart and the tiny sound of the careful, steadying breaths he takes. He doesn’t dare move.

The menacing silence winds around them, drawing them close.

But no silence can last forever if Alex is one of the people trying to keep it. John throws covert glances at him, and he can see Alex boiling over just before the words erupt.

“How _could_ you?” Alex says without preamble and without raising his head. “Fuck, John. How could you? You ruined _everything._ ”

“I’m sorry,” John whispers. 

Alex shrugs; it’s such a dismissive, defeated gesture. “Oh, he’s _sorry,_ ” he says with biting sarcasm. “Well, that makes everything better, doesn’t it?” 

This might be John’s only chance, so he seizes it, even though he keeps his eyes studiously on his own tightly gripped hands. “Look, Alex, you probably don’t want to hear it, and I definitely don’t deserve it, but you need to let me apologise. I’m sorry, okay?” John sighs deeply. “I should never have grabbed you like that. Tried to kiss you. Forced you to-- Fuck. All of it.”

“Hang on,” Alex says, looking up at him and sounding genuinely surprised. “Shit, John, you think I’m angry about _that?_ ”

“Um.” What else could it be? “Aren’t you?”

“Well - yes. But that’s the least of it!” 

“The-- what?”

“For fuck’s sake, John! What you did wasn’t _close_ to the worst thing that’s happened to me. Physically, I mean. Not even in that twenty-four-hour period.”

“--what?” John is flummoxed. He has no idea what’s going on, but this is certainly nothing like the conversation he imagined they’d be having.

Alex bites his lip, debating whether he should go on, then does, sounding fiercer. “I have been wondering, John, how I could possibly hurt you enough to make up for the way you hurt me. But I didn’t realise I’d have to explain it to you first. Fuck!” 

“Alex, please, I--”

Alex cuts him off. “Because you see, what you did? I don’t blame you.”

John looks at Alex then. He’s too shocked not to. “What?”

“It’s my fault, obviously.” 

“What?”

“Yeah,” Alex says, his tone turning self-deprecating. “I figured out that something was getting weird between us just after we started hooking up. Fuck, I _knew_ that was a terrible idea. I noticed you getting more-- Like you kept forgetting there was supposed to be a line there? I mean, it _was_ the sex that triggered it - right?” 

He pauses to give John the chance to confirm this, then continues after a moment when John stays silent - unable to lie, and equally unable to admit the truth.

“It’s _always_ sex that messes things up. I could never hold on to anyone after going there - and, most of the time, I didn’t want to.” Alex lets out a derisive laugh. “And because I’m a fucking idiot, I thought that maybe it would be different with you, since there was so much already tying us together. I only agreed because I figured, if we stopped doing it, things could go back to the way they were before. Because there’s no way _my_ John would let something small like that get between us.”

Alex glares into the far corner of the room.

“But there were no take-backs once we crossed that line. No matter how hard I tried. And oh, John, I _tried._ It’s easy to drop people when fucking each other is all you have in common. But you were everything _else_ to me first. So I couldn’t let _you_ go just because hooking up became a problem. And when I tried to let the sex go, well...”

John’s throat is closed too tight to speak.

“Yeah,” Alex says after a moment, and his jaw stiffens around the emotions he’s barely keeping in check. “God, I wish I could take it all back - all of _my_ mistakes. I wish I’d just slammed that door in your face. I would have done that to anyone else, but I let my guard down with you. Even though you were completely wasted, slurring so badly I couldn’t understand half of what you were saying. You were being aggressive and weird. You’d-- fuck! You’d followed me home or some fucking creepy shit like that. But even then, it didn’t even cross my mind that I wouldn't be safe. So I let you in.”

“Fuck,” John says. 

“Because you’d promised, didn’t you?”

John draws his legs up to his tight chest as he realises, suddenly, what Alex is doing - he’s peeling back the armour around the weakest points in John’s psyche and is aiming his fury relentlessly at them.

“You promised me that you’d always be my safe place. And not just physically, right? All the other kinds too. It seemed too good to be true, and for a very long time I didn’t _really_ believe it. But then you kept, just, _being_ there. Eventually, you fooled me into thinking there weren’t any strings attached. But you-- You broke it. Your promise.”

“I’m sorry.” Will there ever be a time when he’s said this enough?

Alex goes on like he hasn’t heard him. “Figured you’d come over because you needed to let off steam. Maybe it had been too long or something - I don’t know, you never told me about any of _your_ hook-ups. I could handle that. I _was_ handling it. Was gonna just jerk you off or whatever until all the vodka I gave you kicked in. But--” Alex hides his face in his hands for a moment, but then drops them again. His voice comes out rough and raw. “The _stuff_ you were saying. The way you wouldn’t _let go._ ” Alex’s voice falls to a bare whisper. “It was so scary, because I realised it wasn’t about the fucking anymore. I didn’t know what to do. Who you were. I really thought you were going to hurt me if I tried to leave.”

John has tears on his cheeks and has no idea how they got there, or when in this relentless assault he’s started crying. But he sits still and takes it, like a lighthouse out on a lonely rocky crag being battered by Hurricane Alexander.

“It’s my fault that it ever got that far. I let you get too close, in too many ways. I trusted you too much. And I got you all tangled up and confused. Because how could you have _possibly_ known the difference between friends messing around, and you having some sort of claim on me?”

Alex’s tone loses some of its venom. John shakes his head, wanting to burst in, to explain all the ways Alex is wrong, to make it clear he was never confused about this, not from the very first moment. But he can barely breathe, much less speak.

“And now,” Alex sighs. “Well, I messed up and I'm paying for it. I’m angry and exhausted, but I’m also alone, and I don’t have--” His voice cracks. “I don’t even have anyone to talk to. So, thanks for that.”

John squeezes his eyes shut even though Alex isn’t looking at him. There is a long, agonised pause, but John knows for certain that Alex is not done yet.

“Do you know what the _worst_ thing about all this is?” 

John opens his eyes. Alex is finally looking at him, and John feels utterly naked under that piercing gaze.

“What?” John whispers.

Alex doesn’t look away as tears start to roll down his cheeks. He looks so small, and John feels that instinctive pang to put his arms around him, to make sure Alex is warm and safe and surrounded by comfort. But he’s thrown the privilege of doing that away, so he just grips his hands together and squeezes until he feels all the little bones shift painfully against each other.

“The worst thing?” Alex says, despite the way his sobs snatch his air away. “I’ve-- I’ve been trying to figure out a way to _forgive_ you.”

John pulls his gaze away and shakes his head, over and over. No. He doesn’t want that - except that he wants it more than anything.

“How fucked up is that, right? I’m so fucking _dependant_ on you, John, that I’m spinning every possible excuse and explanation to make what happened just okay enough that I don’t have to lose you forever.”

“Jesus, Alex, I don’t want--” He cuts off. Fuck! Even now he can’t tamp down the desperate hope of some sort of reconciliation. “Wait, is that why you didn’t tell--?”

“They wouldn’t get it. They don’t have what we have. What we _had_? Fuck, John! I’m so fucking mad that you had to ruin it!” The anger smothers Alex’s tears, but he digs both hands into his hair and lets out a furious growl. “But it still feels like _my_ fault! If _I’d_ slammed that door, you would never have said those things, and I wouldn’t have heard them - but then you’d still be lying to me about it, right? Still betraying all my trust?”

John frowns and shrugs, and swipes at his tears with the sleeve of his shirt.

The next question comes out softer, but no less angry. “Are you really in love with me?”

No point denying it now. “Um. Yeah.” 

“Since when?”

Fuck. John can barely stomach the truth. “Since the beginning.”

“The--? Fuck!” Alex scowls at his knees, deep in confused thought, and John suspects he is rewriting their shared history to account for this fact. “So that means-- Wait. Everything--?”

John swallows and looks down at his own hands, tangled in his lap.

“So it wasn’t the-- Shit!” Alex pushes himself up onto his feet. “Are you fucking _kidding_ me? Why didn't you say anything?”

He tries to keep the frustration out of his voice. “Alex… It’s not something that just comes up, okay?” 

“Coward!” Alex flings the word at him, knowing exactly how badly it usually bites.

But John just sighs. “Yeah. Guess so.” 

By his look of surprise, Alex is not expecting that concession. 

John rubs his face with both hands. “Look. I didn’t want to pressure you into a commitment like that. Not until you were ready.”

“A commitment?” Alex says. He starts pacing. “John, are you serious? You were my best friend. I have _never_ been that close to someone before. I told you stuff that nobody else in the world knows. I spent more time with you than literally anyone, ever. Does any part of that sound like I was _not_ committed to you?”

John shakes his head no. Fuck, he’s such a moron. “I was afraid that you wouldn’t feel the same. That if you knew, it would ruin the friendship we had.”

“What, ruin it more than _stalking_ me? More than trying to _rape_ me?”

“Fuck--!” The curse bursts out before he can control himself. It’s too much to actually hear the words, and they hang, leaden, in the air between them. He’s almost angry that Alex has put a name to these transgressions. “God, Alex, you must know I didn’t--”

“I don’t know shit anymore, John. Not about you.”

“You _do_ know me, Alex, please! I’m still me. I never meant to-- I care about you.”

Alex explodes at that. “Well, that’s the fucking problem, isn’t it? Huh, John? I thought you actually wanted to be my friend and you were just fucking waiting for - what? For me to magically fall in love with you? And the whole time - the _entire_ time - everything you did, everything you said, all the times you-- It’s all tainted by that now!”

“Um.” That’s not the word John would use. It’s not a _fair_ description.

“Jesus, every single thing we did, from that moment we met at Laf’s--”

“We didn’t meet at Laf’s,” John interrupts. He’s not sure why, but perhaps the burden of all this deception is finally becoming too heavy. Or perhaps it’s that Alex’s high-and-mighty attitude is starting to grate on him; Alex is acting like he’s completely blameless here.

“Wait, what?”

“It was during orientation week. At the bar with the, uh, the flags and shit? We--” John narrows his eyes a little but he doesn’t turn away. “We were drunk, and we went out back, and you--”

“That was _you?_ ” Alex yells, his expression incredulous. He flings his hands into the air. “And there never came a point - since day fucking _one_ \- where you figured you should, you know, _tell_ me?”

“I just-- I didn’t want you to think I only wanted to--”

“To _own_ me?”

“Alex...”

“But you _did_ want that. Right? You made that very fucking clear, John!” Alex grips his hands together behind the back of his neck. “That’s not love, John - that’s obsession!”

Something about that word, or the way Alex says it, chips away at the dam John is holding up against his anger. 

“Hey! It’s funny you say that, Alex,” he snaps, “Because I never heard you complaining about me being around when it was useful to you.”

Alex stops dead; his eyes widen in surprise. “What?”

“Oh, come _on,_ Alex! Don’t play dumb. You knew I’d always come and get you out of all the bullshit you drank your way into.”

“What the _fuck?_ ”

“No! Don’t you dare pretend to be offended. Admit it - you were using me too!”

Alex’s cheeks flush scarlet in an instant and John knows he has hit the mark - though why he is trying to score points against Alex is not something he can explain.

“I never asked you to--”

“That’s a lie! You called me plenty of times.”

“Yes - as my friend!”

“Come on, Alex, _seriously._ You can’t keep playing the miserable orphan card with me. Even you must have known, deep down, that I was going above and beyond.”

“You know what? Fuck you! You and your bullshit saviour complex!”

“That’s not the tune you were singing when I was beating people up for you or hauling you out of danger in the middle of the night. You’re a fucking mess, Alex! You refuse to look after yourself. You don’t care about the impact you have on anyone else. It’s no wonder you push everyone away!”

Alex blanches but his eyes go sharp and icy cold. “Well, it’s a fucking pity it didn’t work on you, asshole.” Alex turns his back on him. “I wish I’d _never_ met you!”

These vicious words slice away everything else - the regret, the shame, the heartache - and leave only anger. It’s not _fair._ John has done so much good for Alex, so many big and small things. Comforts. Confessions. Intimacies. He’s devoted his time and his body and his heart to Alex. To have all of that - all the good, pure, noble things - dismissed so flippantly--

“Fuck, Alex,” John erupts, finally at the end of his tether. “Yes, fine, I might have done some bad shit - I _get_ that - but I _only_ did it because I love you!”

This actually stops Alex dead, as though words and breath jam up in his throat. His eyes go impossibly wide. A tiny exhale escapes through his suddenly slack lips. 

Well, shit - John knows the signs of an impending meltdown well enough and he really doesn’t know what to do if Alex loses it completely. But, somehow, Alex manages to skirt that precipice - maybe he’s just too angry. The frantic eyes lift and lock on his. John can’t look away, even as he starts to squirm.

“ _Because_ you--” Alex says, broken and dangerous, “Now, where have I heard that before.”

It’s not a question. It only takes John a second to get there; there is a reason, after all, why Alex tore through so many foster homes. Why he doesn’t speak about family. Why love and pain are so inextricably linked in his mind. All the abuses that were justified in the name of care and concern...

The genuine distress in Alex’s eyes is too much. John melts instantly into remorse.

“No, god, Alex. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.” The damage he’s done - shit! This angle didn’t even _occur_ to him.

Alex clenches his jaw and drags his eyes away. “Nah, don’t be,” he says in a mock-casual tone that is heavy with pain and bitterness. “I’m grateful for the lesson. I’ll never let myself believe there is anyone in the world whose motives I don’t have to second-guess again.” 

John scoffs bitterly. “I don’t have _motives,_ Alex. I’m in love with you.” It’s easier to say, this time, and remarkably still as true as it ever was. “I want to be with you. Whatever that means. _All_ of what that means - good and bad.”

It’s rare to see Alex on the verge of speechlessness. “Past tense, John,” he forces out. “That ship has sailed. It’s fucking _sunk._ ”

John just shakes his head. “I can’t just switch it off.”

“Oh? Oh really? Then tell me, John, how do I fix that? Huh?” Alex is pacing, again, waving his hands in agitation. “How do I cut myself out of you for good?” 

“Alex, please, I still--”

“No. Shut up. I _can_ fix it. I just need to make you see me for what I really am.” 

John wants to grab him, just to calm him down, but he doesn’t dare to lay a hand on Alex, or even make any sudden movements. 

“Oh, I know!” And the dark look in Alex’s eyes is pure cruelty. “You _were_ denied your last fuck, after all. Is that it? Wanna have one more go? Something for the wank bank? One for the road?”

John looks up and is startled to see Alex advancing on him. Before he can react, Alex shoves his chest and John falters and falls back down onto his elbows. Alex is on top of him in a flash, straddling his thighs, his fists grabbing onto the front of John’s shirt. Alex’s furious face is inches from his own, twisted and ugly.

“ _This_ is what I’m good for,” Alex growls, and grinds his hips down against John’s. “This is _all_ I’m good for. You know that, John, you’ve had a taste. This’ll help you figure out - you don’t love me, you just wanna fuck me.”

John knows he could fend Alex off easily, but he doesn’t want to put his hands on him. Not like this. He tries to sit up, thinking that might dislodge him, but Alex just adjusts his seat, grabs John’s hand and forces it against his hip, dragging it up and down. 

“Come on, Jackie, you know you want to,” Alex urges with another press and twist of his hips, though there is absolutely nothing sensual in the tight, angry lines of Alex’s body. When John doesn’t budge, Alex shifts one hand to grip painfully in John’s hair and runs the other down John’s chest, across his stomach and to the waistband of his jeans.

“Stop it,” John says softly.

But Alex just narrows his eyes, then dives forward and crashes their lips together. 

And oh, _fuck,_ the taste of this, the flood of Alex’s smell - no amount of anger or despair can cloud that this still feels like heaven. In an instant, John is lost again.

He shouldn’t. 

He kisses back. 

He senses the jolt of surprise that runs down Alex’s spine, but then Alex’s fingers are wrestling his jeans open and John’s hand is sliding under the back of Alex’s shirt and across the feverish skin he thought he’d never touch again. Alex grinds forward, and this time feels more genuine; John can feel the press of Alex’s mounting arousal as it matches his own. 

His blood catches fire with lust and fury.

Alex doubles down on the bruising kiss and bites down hard on John’s lip. John claws at the tender skin of Alex’s back, making him hiss and arch against his chest.

Alex drags painfully down on his hair. John’s other hand grips, tight and bruising, around Alex’s hip. 

Then Alex’s fingers slip inside his pants and he rakes his nails up John’s length. _Fuck,_ it’s so good; John groans and presses up, then slips his hand to Alex’s ass and digs his fingers into the flesh so he can drag him forward, increase the pressure. 

Alex moans as his fingers dig in around John’s cock, squeezing and rubbing without finesse. 

John’s whole world shrinks to the points where their bodies are touching.

Alex presses his fingers into John’s scalp and draws his face even closer, like he wants to swallow John whole.

Fuck, this is perfection--

\--then John feels wetness against his cheek and his eyes fly open. 

Alex is crying.

In a flash, the fire in John’s veins is doused. 

He pulls out of the kiss and eases the grip of his hands. He catches the momentary look of surprise on Alex’s face, but then he slides one arm up around Alex’s back and brings the other one up to hold gently against his hair.

It only takes an instant for John to feel calm and certain again. 

“Hush,” he says quietly. “It’s okay.”

Alex goes boneless as John draws him gently against his chest. The sobs overwhelm him.

“No, fuck, stop trying to help me,” Alex protests weakly between hitching breaths, but doesn’t pull away from where his cheek is buried in John’s shirt. “You need-- I need you to hate me.”

“I don’t care what you do or say, Alex. Hurt me as much as you want - god knows I deserve it - but I’m not going to hate you. I can’t.”

He feels Alex shake his head. “You should. You _have_ to.”

John smiles suddenly, softly. “Never.”

“John…” Alex’s voice is barely a whisper. “I don’t want you to be in love with me.”

“Why not?

“I’m not the kind of person someone can be in love with.”

“Nonsense.”

“I’m not in love with you.”

“That’s okay.”

“Fuck.” Alex takes a deep, broken in-breath. “I _wish_ I was.”

John bites his lip but he doesn’t say any more. He holds Alex’s trembling body until he finally stills - either cried out or just too exhausted - and then carefully draws him down so that they are lying on the bed, facing each other.

All of the anger and the sadness and the shame have disappeared, and he doesn’t know where they have gone. But all he needs is right here, in arm’s reach.

Alex doesn’t quite meet his eye. “We should probably, you know, take some time. Apart.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I think it’s for the best.”

“Okay.” John reaches out a hand and places it slowly, carefully on Alex’s shoulder, and then runs his thumb in soothing lines along the curve of his arm. “But how about you grab a little sleep first, okay? You look so tired.”

Alex frowns, but he says, “Okay.”

John reaches behind him for the blanket that they shoved aside and drapes it over both of them.

“John?”

“Yeah?”

Alex finally looks at him, eyes red and searching. “Promise you won’t leave? While I’m sleeping?”

He gave his word once - before he made all the other pledges that he has since broken - that he would always be there. No matter what or when. The least he can do is to try to keep that one.

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from _I Don’t Want Love_ by The Antlers.


	8. Epilogue

There’s a knock on John's door. He calls a greeting, and it eases open.

It’s Alex.

He’s worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, but John knows that's just a nervous tic. So John looks at him expectantly, and smiles, and waits. 

It's been almost two months since their confrontation in Laf’s room. In honour of Alex’s request, they have kept their distance, but the break has felt more like an opportunity to reset than a permanent split. John has been biding his time patiently; after watching Alex fall asleep in his arms, and then wake up and give him a soft, surprised smile, John never doubted that he would come back around eventually. 

“Um.” Alex says. He holds up a plastic shopping bag. “You-- Ah. Just wanted to stop by and see if you had time for a drink?”

“Oh. Sure.”

Alex nods to himself a few times, then crosses the threshold and closes the door behind him. This feels significant; a detente, at last. Alex pulls out two beers, twists off the caps and hands one to John, careful to keep their hands from touching. He sits down gingerly at the end of the bed, elbows resting on his knees.

"So-- Um, how have you been?" Alex asks. 

John makes himself breathe evenly and tries to steady his racing heart. He’s been yearning for this moment; but he shouldn't give his excitement away, so he puts a benign smile on his face. "Oh, you know, fine I guess. I totally bombed the econ quiz though."

“Right?” Alex says with a laugh, visibly relieved at this neutral topic. “Part two was so unfair.”

John gives him an amused, skeptical frown. “But you still got an A, right?”

“Well, yeah - but just because I’ve been reading ahead,” Alex admits.

“I was lucky to scrape a C. But as long as my GPA doesn’t fall below a three, I can keep my dad off my back.”

“True.”

John takes a drink.

They chat a little more, treading carefully through safe topics and knowing that they are doing it. John lets Alex do most of the talking. God, he’s missed this - the sound of Alex’s laugh, his voice raised in indignation or amusement, the knowing flash in his eyes at a gentle in-joke, the way his fingers pick nervously at the label on the bottle.

Then a natural lull in the conversation starts to grow around them, and it threatens to become an awkward silence. There is one thing John has been waiting to ask, and Alex seems to have relaxed enough that he can risk it.

“So, ah, how’s Liz?”

“Oh.” Alex pulls his mouth to one side. “That, uh, didn’t really work out. We broke up.”

Already? John isn’t surprised. He figures Liz must have realised quickly enough that she’d bitten off more than she could chew, but their friend group has been studious about not cross-pollinating gossip about either of them, so he hasn’t had a way to confirm it. John forces the right words out. “Ah, shit, I’m sorry. What happened?”

Alex stares down at the floor and is quiet for a very long time - so long that John is just about to break in with some more stupid small talk when Alex looks up at him, shrugs, and says, “She wasn’t you.”

Oh.

“Oh!”

“Yeah-- shit.” Alex scrunches his nose and looks away. 

John doesn’t touch it, not yet. “How have you been holding up?”

“Oh, okay, I guess. School’s been busy and, well, I’ve been focusing on that more. But, I mean-- I miss you,” he admits in a smaller voice, doing all the work of bringing the conversation back to where John wants it to go. “I’ve been thinking, and it seems like a waste to throw away everything, because of one bad night. Right?” He looks back down into his lap. “You did some shitty stuff, but you apologised, and you’re not a bad person. We both made stupid choices. Maybe it’s time to get over it and move on?”

“Move on?”

“You know - be friends again.” Alex sighs. “I don’t know if that’s something you even want anymore.”

John makes an exaggerated show of mulling this over, and Alex snorts.

“No need to be such an asshole about it!”

John laughs. “Forgive me?”

“Yeah.” Alex smiles down at the floor. “Sure.” Then he checks his phone. “Oh, shit, I have to run, I have this-- uh, thing.”

Alex stands up a little awkwardly. John notices that he’s not wearing anything warm over his shirt - typical - and it is almost evening, so he steps over to the closet and pulls out the autumn-red cardigan. He knows he is taking a chance, but he holds it out anyway.

Alex stares at it, and some of the friendly facade slips away to reveal a more vulnerable, thoughtful, self-conscious expression underneath.

“John…” he says hesitantly.

“It’s getting cold, Alex. It’s okay. I feel like it basically belongs to you, and it doesn’t fit me anyway.” That’s not exactly true - but, surely, he can allow himself this _one_ white lie.

Alex still doesn’t reach for it. He chews his lip again. “I don’t--”

“I washed it, if that’s what you’re worried about,” John jokes, but he hopes Alex can read the meaning beneath those words. It’s clean again. Fresh. A new start.

Alex huffs and reaches out, takes the cardigan, and slips it on.

“Thanks,” he says softly as he turns to leave.

“Friends?” John asks, just as Alex reaches for the door handle.

Alex stops, and nods. “Yeah. Friends.”

It’s okay, John thinks. This is fine. They can be friends.

For now.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment or come chat on Tumblr - @my-deer-friend <3


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